


The Meaning of Our Truth

by FaeryQueen07



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Drama, M/M, Minor Character Death, Romance, Temporary Character Death, Thoughts of Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 08:05:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 98,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaeryQueen07/pseuds/FaeryQueen07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the last 23 years of his life, Loki has believed himself to be a true son of Odin. A "chance" meeting in the lower part of Asgard's surrounding city leaves him reeling with shock. Hurt and betrayed by the lie he has been forced to lead, Loki lashes out in the only way he knows how; stealing prized artifacts from Asgard's vaults for Jotunheim's feared king, Laufey...and Loki's true father. Between betraying the man who raised him and finally giving over to his desire for Thor, Loki finds himself caught in the deadliest of webs. When his actions prove tragic, Loki knows he would do anything to make amends and win back his brother's love, no matter what the cost to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Venivincere, without whom I would not have been able to complete this. She has been constant cheerleader, despite the mayhem of trying to move and redo her new house. <3 Also thanks to Roozette and Atypicalsnowman, who did some last-minute look-overs. :D You guys are the best.
> 
> Please make sure you go visit [ctbn60's Live Journal](http://ctbn60.livejournal.com/342848.html) to see the amazing artwork she did. It's all very stunning, and I only hope she finds this story worthy of her time and effort! Fingers crossed for her as she lives over on the East Coast and is currently trying to safe in the midst of Hurricane Sandy. :(
> 
> Please stop by the [LJ comm](http://marvel-bang.livejournal.com/) for more wonder stories and art/media. Posting is three stories a day starting today on through Nov. 19th, so don't miss out!

There were few pastimes in which Loki found true pleasure, but the two closest to his heart were playing his violin and practicing his magic. The latter he did sparingly, for using magic within Asgard’s borders was not an easy task and on the worst of days, left him abed with a fever that could only be soothed by a restorative specially made by the palace physician. On those days, only Thor was allowed access to his rooms, and they would lie in Loki’s bed, limbs tangled together, as they waited for the fever to ebb.

Loki’s music, however, was a privilege in which he indulged daily. He spent hours sometimes locked away in his rooms with only his violin for company. On the clearest of days, he allowed Thor to persuade him to the gardens, and his fingers would dance through the notes of every piece he knew, some learned from bards passing through, but many crafted by none other than him.

He had intended to play outside, but when he woke that morning, it was to the sound of a late summer rainfall pattering against his window. The sky was overcast, and he felt an instant lethargy settle over him. With a sigh, Loki rose from his bed and padded barefoot across the cold stone floor, warming the water in his washbasin before dipping his hands into it. He was just wiping the last traces of soap from his skin when a knock came, and Loki paused to stare at his door. It opened before he could grant entrance, but what annoyance he may have felt at the intrusion melted away at the sight of his mother, escorted by two pages bearing platters of food and drink.

“My Lady, that is too much.”

“Thor will wake soon enough and it is no secret he will come here before he thinks to call for his morning meal. A kingdom is not run by might alone. Odin and Thor have the strength, the fierce determination, to lead our people, but they depend on you and I to think ahead.” She smiled as he kissed her cheeks, waving the pages out before taking a seat. Then she continued, saying, “Hence, enough food for three.”

“And to what to I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Loki sat across from her, filling a small plate with fruits and cheese. He passed it to her, then filled his own. 

“Must I have reason to visit my son? The castle sleeps yet. There are few who wake as early as we, and I wished to have a moment with you all to myself.” 

Loki could not help the smile that curved over his lips, and he pressed a kiss to her hand when she reached for one of the goblets of water.

“It is my fortune then, mother, that I may break my fast with you.”

They ate in companionable silence, the sound of the rain no longer so severe. It was as he was standing that she spoke, her gazing landing somewhere just beyond his shoulder.

“Would you play for me?” she asked with a nod to his violin.

“Of course, Lady Mother.” 

As Loki tuned his violin, Frigga moved her chair closer to the hearth, where the fire had died down to ash and glowing embers. It required no more than a thought from Loki to have it flaring to life, and though her expression was one of chastisement, he could see a trace of pride within her as well.

“And what does my lady desire to hear?”

“Something quiet, I should think.”

Loki nodded and brought the violin to his chest, resting it against his collarbone. Closing his eyes, he let his fingers find their strings, set his bow, and drew out a soft, wavering tone of longing and sadness. It rose high with hope, crashed low in desolation and hovered somewhere in between the two emotions as he struggled to separate his own mood from the music.

He moved to a happier piece next, an easy melody that he had played often enough for his mother to know. Loki could hear her humming along, and he smiled though his eyes remained closed. It was only when he opened them again that he discovered Thor had joined them. He was lying on Loki’s bed, empty plate balanced on his stomach, Frigga’s fingers combing through his hair. His eyes were shut, but he opened them when Loki’s bow stuttered across the strings, eliciting a sour note.

“I have missed this,” Thor said as Loki stowed away his battered instrument. He made room for Loki on the bed, curling his arm around his brother’s shoulders and drawing him in close. “I remember entire afternoons where we did nothing but lie around—”

“Being cosseted and praised?” Loki had meant to sound biting, had wished to end the foolish words of his brother, but they came out almost plaintive. In truth, he missed those days just as much, if not more so.

“Mother, you must do this always, every morning.”

“My poor darling boys,” Frigga said, only a note of teasing to her tone. “I would, had the day more hours. Now I must return to your father for he went to bed in the most frightful of moods last night. There are no council meetings, no other requirements of you two, so I do not see why you could not spend the day as you wish. Your father and I will take dinner in our rooms, but I should like all of us to eat supper together.”

“What of Ladies Jane and Darcy?” Loki asked, tipping his head back to meet his mother’s gaze.

Frigga stroked gentle fingers down his cheek, her smile sad. “I will see that you are not disturbed. Take care, my children.” She pressed a kiss to each of their brows in turn, then slipped from the room. 

Loki meant to move, but Thor was warm and pliant beside him, and the night had been wrought with dreams of ice and pain. Closing his eyes once more, Loki turned his head and pressed his cheek to Thor’s arm. They drowsed there several hours, the rain outside whipping itself into a storm that howled against the window glass. Thor muttered a complaint against the noise, and Loki raised a hand, the curtains snapping closed around the bed and shrouding them in silence.

How long they lay in the dark, Loki did not know. Thor stirred twice, the first time to settle them closer together and the second time after Loki rolled to his stomach, Thor shifting into a sprawl across his back. Oppressive as it was, the weight of Thor pinning him to the bed, it was also comforting. They remained like that until a servant came with lunch, the muffled sound of footsteps rousing them from their sleep. Neither moved until the door shut with a click, and then Thor was tugging Loki along toward the table.

“How fare your hands, brother?” Thor asked as they shifted to sit closer to one another.

Loki frowned down at his fingers. “They are fine, as well you can see.”

Thor wet his lips with a sip of mulled wine and said, “Would you play for me again?”

“With pleasure,” Loki replied, words all but lost in his own goblet. “And what would my dearest brother wish to hear?”

Their gazes moved to the window as one, and Thor drummed his fingers on the table. Outside, a true storm had picked up, and the summer rain lashed angrily at the castle. 

“Something to match the mood, I should think.”

“A tempest. It is fitting.”

Loki played until his fingers ached and his neck grew stiff. Awareness was slow in returning, and when it did, he was surprised to find that Thor was still seated at the table. Loki had assumed his brother would migrate over to the bed once more, as was his usual tendency. When he made to stand, Thor moved, taking the violin from Loki’s hands and settling it into its case with care. The bow followed next, and by the time Loki was sliding beneath the bed covers, Thor had deposited the platters outside the bedroom door.

Thor paused at the side of the bed, a note of hesitancy in his manner that Loki found bewildering. It was usually he who doubted his welcome, not his brother, and he wondered what he should say in that moment. With a careless flip of his wrist, Loki lifted away the sheet and blanket.

“If you do not hurry, I shall grow cold and die.”

Thor huffed out a laugh, but he did as told. “If there is one thing we need not fear right now, even in the midst of a summer storm, it is catching our death of cold.”

“And yet,” Loki murmured into the curve of Thor’s shoulder, “here you are, hastened at the very thought of your brother wasting away from cold sickness.”

Thor’s reply was lost in another roll of thunder, and by the next, both were asleep once more.

**. . .**

The next morning greeted them with an overabundance of sunshine. They had not drawn the curtain before bed the night before, too tired from an evening spent in the dining hall, entertaining. Loki would have preferred to stay in his rooms, but Thor had insisted. At their mother’s request, Loki had brought along his violin to fill the hours before the group parted ways.

Now, he wanted nothing more than to burrow beneath his blankets, to spend another day abed shirking all responsibility, but no sooner had the thought passed through his mind when an attendant came to pound on the door.

“Your Highness, your father the King has asked that I remind you and your brother that there is a council meeting in two hours time.”

“Consider your task complete,” Loki ground out. “And do not bother Thor. I shall see him awakened myself.”

“Yes, Your Highness. A page will be by shortly with your breakfast.”

From beside him, Thor grumbled and tugged a pillow over his head. Loki considered shoving his brother off the bed, but thought better of it when a broad, strong hand wrapped about his wrist. With a long-suffering sigh, he said, “If you are quick, I will join you in the meeting. Otherwise, a new shipment of books arrived two days ago, and I should like to see them before they are relegated to the royal library.”

“How dull,” Thor replied, but he did as he was bade. 

As Thor stretched, uncaring that he was in naught more than a pair of sleep hose, Loki focused on dressing, rather than the smooth expanse of his brother’s back. A full day spent sharing the same space with no reprieve had only reminded him of the curl of shame festering within him. Loki did not doubt that Thor would be less than pleased to learn his brother harbored affection for him that went beyond that of familial love.

Pushing such thoughts away, Loki took at a seat at his table, his timing deliberate as another knock came. The corner of Thor’s mouth curved up, his smile fond and indulgent as he crossed the room to let in the page. From where he was sitting, Loki could see the exchange, the way the boy fidgeted as he waited for Thor to take the heavy platter. There was another boy just behind him, a few years older with the same dark hair and light eyes, and he waited patiently as Thor brought the first platter to the table before turning to retrieve the next. 

The boys were gone even before the door swung shut, and Loki found himself the sole focus of Thor’s attention. There was a moment, just as he was reaching out to place a generous portion of food in front of Loki, where it looked as though Thor might do something strange. A tense second, where his fingers hovered level with Loki’s mouth, a section of cheese grasped between them. Then that moment passed, and they were seated across from one another, the silence stretched thin but comfortable between them.

They parted company long enough to get dressed, though Thor stalled twice as Loki attempted to see him out the door. When he went, it was grudgingly, and Loki frowned at the pout Thor wore. 

“You are like a child being sent to the corner. Hurry, before father sends another attendant. I have already promised to sit through the meeting with you.”

“I would rather remain here, away from everyone else.”

Loki sighed. “Of course you would, and I would as well. However, we were granted that freedom yesterday, and if we are late, our father will not be so kind again.”

Thor grimaced. “In that, you are correct. I will meet you in the hall, brother.”

Loki would have liked a few minutes alone, but he knew that if he did not hurry, his brother would come to forcibly drag him from the room. And while it was a tempting prospect, to put a fierce scowl upon Thor’s face, Loki did not relish the idea of being carried over Thor’s shoulder all the way to the council room. With a sigh, he pushed himself away from the table and began to dress.

He was still tugging on his boots when he stumbled into the hall minutes later, and he looked up to find his brother standing there, hair in disarray, tunic bunched about his belt and his hose twisted unbecomingly. It took only a few seconds work to set him to rights, Loki ever aware of the attendant’s watchful gaze. When he was certain they would not be turned away upon appearance alone, Loki conceded to the tense attendant’s to be under way.

The walk was not too long, but Thor was silent for the duration, sulky at being forced from his morning of laziness. Though it would do no good to let it be known, Loki was pleased to see his company was still favored, even if the competition was something as dull as a council meeting. Today they would be discussing the harvests, their own as well as those of the outlying towns and villages. Representatives would be chosen to ride out and assess the crops and, upon their return, another meeting would commence to deliberate over which lands required the most assistance. For all that Loki felt stilted in the reception of his father’s affection, the kingdom was not, the people well cared for.

Outside the main doors, they paused; Loki to gather his wits about him, to bring up the cool exterior that kept him shielded from much of his father’s indifference and Thor to once more undergo inspection before presentation. The doors opened to revel only half the members already in attendance, their father standing off to the side with his chief advisor. He glanced up as they approached, the lines about his face tightening when his gaze met Loki’s. 

To Thor, King Odin said, “You have arrived, and none too soon.” 

He looked to Loki, objection writ clear across his features, but voiced nothing. For now, he would not refuse, perhaps aware that Thor was on time only because Loki encouraged him so. It would have been just as easy to keep Thor to himself, to convince him to claim illness and remain abed. Only duty had Loki doing otherwise, and a small curl of satisfaction warmed his belly at the knowledge that this was not unknown to their father.

“If you would take your seats, the last of the councilmembers arriving, and I would like to begin without delay.”

“Of course, Father,” Loki replied when Thor only stared mutinously back. 

He pulled his brother along, claiming their seats just as the last man came through the doors. There was a great shuffling of parchment, during which Loki surreptitiously gazed about the room. A few members were missing, two down with a summer cold and one away on a family emergency, if Loki recalled correctly. He would see to it that those out ill received copies of the assembly notes.

The meeting itself held little appeal to Loki. He was familiar enough with the lands and the villages, but until there was a report back of the standings of the crops, there was not much he could offer his brother by way of assistance. For now, they had only inquisitive suggestions, estimations based on the previous three years’ harvests. Loki refrained from yawning as the conversation turned towards the dull: how study the livestock look this year, how tall the wheat has grown already in their own fields, some thankfully harvested before the rain could soil it.

By the time the meeting was called to an end, Loki was fatigued with hunger. They had not breakfasted, late as they were in rising, and he had eaten lightly at supper the night before. His fingers trembled as he dusted his parchment to dry the ink, and he was only too grateful to allow his brother to test and roll it. The copies would have to wait until after their midday meal.

“You were quiet all throughout,” Thor commented as they headed to their rooms.

Loki shrugged. “There was little for me to say. Until we know how the season has begun for the outlying villages, I have not much to offer. As it is, there are only two inclined to hear my suggestions. You and the gentleman to my other side, absent in the face of his father’s untimely passing. It would serve you well to send a messenger tonight to wish his family well in the face of their sudden loss. Perhaps send along some of the fine cloth recently brought over from India. It will arrive too late to be turned into a funeral gown, but perhaps a mourning dress for the lady of the house?”

“For all that you protest, you show great care for our people, brother,” Thor said, voice fond.

“I care for those who give me reason,” Loki argued. 

It was true, to an extent. Though he would urge Thor to offer condolences to even the least favored among the councilmembers, Loki saved courtesies such as the one proposed for those he felt more deserving. Anything more he wished to say on the matter was cut short by the appearance of Volstagg and Fandral, their eyes alight with merriment that could only lead to Loki’s suffering.

“Your friends arrive, Thor. Pray, give them your time and let me rest.”

Thor frowned. “Make haste to eat, brother, for I can see you wilting even now and would not have you sick again.” He held up a hand to cut off Loki’s argument. “Nay, go to your room and I will have a servant bring you food. I will see at supper.”

As they parted ways, Loki could hear the deep rumble of Volstagg’s voice, his words carrying throughout the hall.

“Thor! Come, it is almost time to train and I would speak with you over dinner concerning matters of great importance.”

“He means,” Fandral said, his words harder to hear, “that we thought perhaps a day at the river come tomorrow?”

Loki hurried his steps, aware as he made the long climb to his room that the proposed outing would happen only with his own presence. He was of a mind to decline, eager to see to the library’s latest acquirements, but knew not even his most grave protestations would spare him. Resigned, Loki promised himself he would spend the evening in the library, and if nothing else, would find a book to occupy his time and thoughts at the riverside.

**. . .**

The sun rose with damnable reliability, just barely cresting the horizon, her light still faint as it slipped through the window, and she brought with her the muffled thump of Thor’s arrival at Loki’s door. Unwilling to be roused so early, Loki rolled to his stomach and pulled his pillow to cover his head. It was a futile hope, indeed, that Thor’s exuberance at spending the day out of doors should be so easy to shut out, but Loki was careful nonetheless not to let his ill-will dampen his brother’s spirits.

“How are still abed at this hour?” Thor’s voice rang out through the room, booming and too cheerful for someone predisposed to dislike morning on a normal day. “Come, we ride out in just an hour’s time, and I know how you like to take your time.”

“Thor, would you not find this trip more amiable without me? Your friends, surely, would enjoy time with you only.” Loki could hear the plaintive edge to his words and inwardly cringed that he should sound so childish. 

The bed dipped beneath Thor’s weight, and a moment later, he was pressed against Loki’s side, his body too warm and heavy, yet absolutely perfect all the same. It was hard to resist Thor’s tone this close, and at last, Loki sighed.

“I have yet to eat,” he began, only to be cut off by Thor once more.

“There is food on the table and more being packed as we speak. Eat and I will ready your clothing.”

The offer was not an innocent one. Thor would choose that which suited his own tastes, leaving Loki dressed far more casually than he preferred. The genuine smile lit across Thor’s face was reward enough when Loki consented, and he kept his dissatisfaction to himself at the sleeveless tunic and light trousers laid out for him. Soon enough, Thor would come to the age where he no longer found pleasure in dressing Loki to his liking.

When they arrived in the courtyard, it was to find the horses ready, Thor’s friends already astride, and their packs bulging ominously. No doubt the cook would be after them later, wares set aside for the dessert of a visiting nobleman vengefully missed. Loki would eat only the most basic to keep himself free of a guilty conscience, and remain in the head cook’s good graces. If ever there was a woman with a nose for a lie, it was she.

As expected, Thor, Volstagg, Fandral and Lady Sif took off at a gallop the moment they passed through the gates, whooping loud enough to startle the cart pony passing into through the lower city street. There were small thanks to be paid the group waited until the cobblestone road gave way to dirt. In that, Thor was always careful, memories still fresh of a horse gone lame from misuse and then killed.

Beside him, Hogun stayed abreast, quiet, but not out of rudeness. Of the terrible foursome, Loki found Hogun to be least offensive, and took comfort that no conversation would be required of him. His mare had a good head about her, and he dropped her reins in favor of his book, certain she would not startle even at the appearance of a snake. He caught Hogun’s look of surprise, and offered only the barest of explanations.

“I have trained her quite vigorously. Not even Thor has complaints of her ability to keep me seated.”

Hogun nodded. “She is of a rare quality, then. Were I to give my own horse his head, I would just as likely wind up lying on the road as to find myself in whole other kingdom.”

He lapsed into blessed silence again, and it was not until they neared the river that a thought occurred to Loki. Strapped at Hogun’s sides were twin blades, at his thighs and ankles, knives to be thrown. Whether he chose to remain behind of his own volition or not, he had been entrusted with Loki’s safety, unnecessary as the effort was. He wanted to be annoyed by Thor’s over-protective tendencies, but there was pleasure to be found in them as well.

Thor was already waist-deep in the cold river when they arrived, Volstagg and Fandral arguing heartily over who would jump from the rocky outcropping first. Lady Sif was laid out on the sand, hair plaited and pinned up with a blanket folded beneath her head. She wore only her underclothes, unashamed even the presence of men, but Loki was not of a mind to find her attractive.

Having found a shaded spot to retreat, Loki spread himself out to his own leisure and withdrew his book once more. It was a fascinating volume on the inhabitants of China and the creatures that resided there, both cherished and feared in turn. He wondered if the passages on the great drakes, with their fire-breath and ability to fly, were in truth or the fanciful exaggeration of a poet.

How much time passed, Loki did not know. He was enraptured with the idea of magic shared between human and beast, and kept in his heart a great wistfulness that he should never meet one, given the great distance between his land and China. Even the merchants that traveled had yet to meet one from China; the trade they received was passed through many different hands, the price as outlandish as the items themselves.

Just as Loki reached a section on the Chinese wells of magic, a shadow fell over him, darkening the page just enough to cause irritation. He scowled down at the pages even as his brother spoke.

“You are wasting a beautiful day, keeping your nose stuck in that book!”

Loki spared Thor only the briefest of glances before returning to his reading. It was true, the day was fair with not a breeze to be felt and the sun beating down warm and strong upon them. In the river, Hogun and Volstagg wrestled, attempting to pin the other beneath the surface as Fandral looked on, coming to the aid of whomever he deemed most in need. The Lady Sif lay on the shore sunning herself with bold carelessness, for already her skin had taken on a pink tinge. He felt no small measure of smug pleasure at the knowledge that later that evening, she would be cursing her thoughtlessness.

“I am in the sun, am I not? And, at your request, I have even dressed for the occasion,” he said, waving one bare arm in Thor’s direction. It had taken quite a bit of wheedling on Thor’s part for Loki to part ways with his shirt, though he refused to remove his trousers, instead rolling them up to expose the lower portions of his legs to the sun. “Now leave me be and—” Loki broke off with a curse as Thor loomed over him, showering him with droplets of water. 

“Loki,” Thor said, tone chiding. “Why must you be so severe even now?”

“Thor, whatever idea it is in that head of yours, I suggest you—” 

He sucked in a sharp breath as Thor snatched away his book, though he was mollified by the care with which it was set aside. Loki sighed and allowed his brother pull him up from the ground, but he was unprepared for the shoulder that met with his stomach, and could only grunt in surprise as he was hoisted into the air. It only occurred to him to struggle when he realized where Thor was carrying him, but he ceased his fruitless pounding upon Thor’s back when a strong hand came down hard on his arse.

Loki was spared the shame of his blush being discovered a second later when he was plunged into the water. He stayed under long enough to calm his racing heart, then pushed up toward the surface. Thor was wise enough not be within reach when Loki turned to glare at him, casually swimming back toward the shore. Loki’s annoyance spiked into true anger as Fandral and Volstagg jeered in loud voices.

Volstagg clapped Hogun on the shoulder, saying, “If not for the short hair, he could be a _havsfrun_!”

“Quick, Thor, silence the creature before she lures us to our watery graves!” Fandral feigned horror at the very idea, and beside him, Volstagg doubled over with laughter.

Careful to keep his hand under water so as not to give himself away, Loki twisted his fingers in a circle, then jerked up at the wrist. He smirked at the aggrieved shout as Volstagg was lifted into the air by invisible hands. Loki allowed Fandral a moment to believe he had escaped the same fate, only to do the same to him, this time eliciting a high, girlish shriek from the man.

“Brother, let them down before you do their brains harm.”

Thor’s appearance at Loki’s side startled him into ending the spell abruptly. Volstagg and Fandral dropped into the water, spluttering as they resurfaced. He arched a single brow at them, but let his revenge end there. It was enough that Lady Sif heard Fandral’s shameful cry of surprise, and he contented himself to listening to her berate them both.

He floated on the river, letting the current carry him further from the shore, aware the entire time of Thor keeping pace with him. It was as they ventured toward the bend that Thor broke the silence between them, one of his hands coming to wrap about Loki’s wrist.

“There is a place, not far from here.”

“You mean the meadow, where you would drag me whenever you were bored and wished me to perform magic tricks to entertain you?”

Thor smiled at the memory, but shook his head. “No, it is along the river. Further than any of the others will wander.”

Loki studied Thor’s face, but could see no ill-will in the strong features. With a shrug, he nodded. “All right, though it will be upon your shoulders to which I shall cling, should I become too tired to make the swim back.”

“I would carry you from one end of the kingdom to the next if you required it, brother. Come.”

Their leisurely pace gave way to a strained one as Thor made to outstrip Loki. Much rejoiced as his strength was when it came to fighting, however, in the water it was almost a curse. Loki, lithe and graceful, cut through the water and took the lead, only stopping when he was a good distance ahead.

“You are outmatched here, brother,” he laughed. He waited for Thor to catch up, and took his dunking with a smile, for the fingers curved along his shoulder were tender in their touch.

“It is just there,” Thor said, pointing to the next curve. “The current is stronger here, for we are closer to the sea, and it still moves quickly to meet the lake.” He did not offer aid, for which Loki was thankful, but Thor stayed close as they began to swim again. 

As they neared the bend, Thor moved closer to the shore and Loki followed suit. He was so intent upon keeping his head above water that he almost missed the inlet, his gaze sweeping right over it before he realized that that was their goal. A dense line of trees shaded the inlet, their branches swaying in the gentle breeze. The ground beneath them was littered with leaves, most of them dead, but some still with color.

Thor was halfway to shore, rising up out of the water and into the sunlight filtering through the boughs. He glanced back at Loki, a challenge in his eyes as he continued his trek, unashamed of his nakedness. Loki hesitated, feeling all the more aware of their differences just then. At Thor’s beckoning, he sighed and trudged his way out of the river, conscious of how his trousers clung to his slender legs and the paleness of his skin from so many hours spent covered from neck to wrist to ankle. When he drew up alongside Thor, he shivered. He blamed the sudden chill in the air for his weakness as he allowed Thor to line their bodies together, his arm a solid warm weight along Loki’s shoulders.

“I should think that while the summer season lasts, this would be a fine place to read.”

“You can read?” Loki enquired with a mock frown.

Thor rolled his eyes and nudged him hard in the ribs with an elbow far pointier than it looked. “You, not I. I’ve little care for books, but I could swim, sleep—”

“And laze about in the sun, and otherwise shirk all responsibility,” Loki said. He wanted to be annoyed, but the sincere gaze of his brother made it all but impossible. “It is quite pretty. I should think it would only take your friends a moment to ruin such a peaceful place.”

Bumping their shoulders together, Thor nudged him further inland, and the leaves crackled beneath their feet. “I meant only you and I, brother. I should think they would not enjoy the swim.”

“They could just as easily ride,” Loki countered.

“Nay, they will not be bothered. It is too close to our border with Alfheim. Though not enemies of Asgard, Volstagg and the others do not share our ease with Alfheim’s people. No, this would be a place for only you and I, Loki. I should like to see you leave the castle’s walls more often. The sun’s color suits you.”

Loki hummed in agreement. He enjoyed spending time outside, and trips such as these were few and far between. Without Lady Sif and the Warriors Three taunting him, it was easy to relax, to let nature’s calm settle over him. He would have liked nothing more than to remain there, sheltered away from their lives of responsibility, but the sun was beginning to descend, and too soon their presence would be required before their father, or they would risk his anger.

“I should like to return, when the season changes again, but for now it is time to return to the others.”

“It is early afternoon yet! Why leave now? It is not even the peak of the day.” Thor’s scowl was fierce, but Loki only turned away, picking his way back to the water.

“Because you are required to attend the council meeting this afternoon, and if we are late, father will blame me. I have no desire to gain his ire so soon after the last time, brother. Now come, before one of those fools you call friends drowns himself.”

The return trip was far more tiresome, and by the time they dragged themselves ashore, Loki wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bed. Though still warm, the breeze had picked up a noticeable chill, and it cut through Loki’s soaked clothing, leaving him shivering. The others had left their clothes out to dry, and he could see the cold mirth in Lady Sif’s eyes as she watched him struggle into his shirt. He snarled twice when he could not get his fingers to cooperate long enough to untangle his ties, and his mood blackened.

Thor chose then to appear before him, ignoring Loki’s rough words to straighten the laces of his shirt. He leaned in, voice pitched low, and said in a whisper,”It would be an easy thing for you, should you decide to dry your clothes sooner rather than later.” He straightened, stepping back only far enough to allow Loki room to cast his spell. “Good. Fandral,” he called over his shoulder. “Take my brother’s horse. You four ride ahead. Loki shall ride with me.”

“Treats the bastard like a lady, too weak to ride on her own,” Fandral muttered as he grabbed the reins to Loki’s mare. 

The words stirred something within Loki, and he swung around to respond, only to find an arm restraining him. Thor’s laugh rumbled through them.

“If it were a swooning maid I was after, do not worry Fandral for I would look no further than yourself. Now enough with your insults. You do my brother grievance whenever that mouth of yours opens, and I should like not to lose one of my best knights because he has been bewitched into some woodland creature. Now _go_ , and let my brother and I ride in peace.”

Volstagg wasted no time vaulting up into the saddle of his horse, and Hogun followed suit. Lady Sif lagged behind, eyes moving from Loki to Thor and back again. At last she mounted her horse, but it was clear in the stiff set of her shoulders that she was not pleased at the turn of events. 

“It is not safe for you two to ride alone. There are many who would see harm done to you.”

“Between my brother’s sorcery and my sword, I believe we are well taken care of, though your concern is heartening.”

The dismissal was clear in his tone, and with a frown, Lady Sif obeyed. As Thor’s friends rode off, Thor turned to Loki once more, tugging him close to touch their foreheads together.

“You take his words too seriously, brother. Ignore them, for mine are the only ones that should matter. I know you are not some wilting damsel—” 

“And yet you treat me thus,” Loki said. He pulled away roughly, reaching for the saddle horn and mounting with careless grace. He had half a mind to leave Thor there, but then a hand, warm and strong and sure, settled over his own.

Thor’s gaze was sincere, his words doubly so when he said, “It is never my intention, for you are dearest to—”

“Do not!” Loki said, sharp. He softened his tone at the flash of hurt in his brother’s eyes. “Do not. My resolve is ever wavering when you speak thus. You are forgiven, Thor. Now get up here, for I should like to change my clothes before I am to stand before our father and his council.”

It was only as Thor was settling in behind him that Loki realized the saddle was one made to carry two people. His stomach twisted and clenched at the thought of Thor planning this closeness, and as Thor’s broad, thick thighs bracketed his own, Loki felt his face heat. He was spared the indignity of being found out when a blanket was draped across his shoulders, the folds falling neatly over his lap.

Thor’s arms came around him then, and Loki found it hard to tear his gaze away from the hands that gripped the reins. Unwilling to shame himself further, he closed his eyes and leaned back into the welcome warmth of Thor’s chest. It did not take long for the steady beat of the horse’s hooves against the road to lull him into sleep, and when he opened his eyes again, they were stopped just out of sight of the castle walls.

“I did not think you would want anyone to see you...”

Under normal circumstances, Loki was inclined to agree, but he was tired from his day spent in the sun. He yawned wide enough that his jaw cracked, and shook his head. 

“Let them talk. I do not wish to walk further than necessary.” 

Thor made no audible response, but Loki could sense his approval in the looseness of his grip as Thor slung an arm about Loki’s waist. He clucked his tongue and his mare began to move again, her gait tired. Loki would need to make certain she received an extra blanket and fresh straw for her bed that night, if not also a treat from the stable boys who doted upon her.

The city was bustling as they made their way through the gates and up to the castle. The Midsummer festivities were still a few weeks away, but already preparations were underway. Every year, an invitation was sent out to the ally kingdoms, and with the royal entourage would arrive some of the lower class citizens. They would feast in the great hall with the court, then disperse into the night to join in the revelry of the common folk. 

Often, Loki and Thor would slip away as well, donning more simple clothing before accompanying their people in celebration. It was one of Loki’s favorite holidays, and he looked forward to the coming weeks, as Odin’s focus shifted from his sons to his people. A rare and much beloved break from the scrutiny of court life.

They reached the courtyard far sooner than Loki would have liked, and he waited for Thor to dismount before doing the same. Two stable boys appeared at his elbow, a mischievous twinkle in the eye of the youngest lad as he slipped a sugared treat into the horse’s mouth. Loki smiled, and bent low to whisper in his ear.

“A copper for you each if you see that her stall is freshly cleaned before she is put away for the evening.”

The boy’s eyes went wide, and he nodded once, just enough for Loki to take note. “Thank ‘e, your Highness.”

Loki straightened, then stiffened when he saw his father striding toward them. He cast a wary glance at the sky and frowned to see that it was darker than should be. Beside him, Thor twitched, and when Loki glanced at him, he bore the guiltiest of expressions.

“You were sleeping so soundly, I thought it would matter little if our return trip was extended.”

“And now we are late for the council meeting. It will be my head father will have for this, you realize?”

Thor opened his mouth, but Odin’s arrival put to end whatever reply he meant to give. Staring them each down in turn, Odin looked to Thor first. 

“You were to be home two hours previous. Your friends returned, said that you were just behind them, and yet here you are now.”

“The fault is mine, Father,” Thor said. He was silenced by a single glare.

“Which I take to mean that it was Loki who chose to delay your return. Thor, your mother awaits you in her chambers. You will escort her to the great hall. Loki, you will go directly to your rooms. Perhaps a night and a day without food will remind you of your responsibilities to your people and to your King.”

Loki refused to meet his gaze, and he pulled away when Thor reached for him. Always it was thus, the blame laid heavily upon his shoulders, never those of his brother. Long ago, resentment toward Thor had brewed deep within his heart, but he saw now the fault was not Thor’s but that of their father. Mute in his fury, Loki stalked into the castle. He crossed paths with Volstagg and Hogun, and had to fight the urge to curse the men when they blocked the way.

“King Odin looks for you.”

“And I have been found. Now if you do not mind, I have business to attend.” He side-stepped Volstagg and continued on his way, but when he rounded the corner, he stopped to listen to their exchange.

“No doubt the king has punished him for their late return.” 

Volstagg made a low noise in his throat. “More like it was Thor, though Odin would never admit as much. Ah well, his company will not be missed, nor his tricks.”

“Perhaps, but he is hard on Loki. It cannot be easy for him. You forget, I think, how long it took for you and I to become friends when first I arrived to Asgard. My mother, a Midgardian taken as wife by a half-breed Svartalfheim. For near a year, all thought me an enemy, planted within Asgard’s walls to spy on your king. And yet here I am.”

“It is not the same! He is a son of Odin—”

“Who bears no Asgardian traits, but has powers none here understand and many fear. He is an oddity and is treated as such. Perhaps you are too hard on him, my friend.”

The sound of their voices faded as they retreated down the corridor and into the stairwell. Loki remained where he was, pondering Hogun’s words. Always he had been aware of his differences, but when laid out so plainly…. With a shake of his head, Loki pushed away from the wall, walking the last few feet that separated him from his room. There was a page waiting in the alcove across the hall, and while he did not doubt the boy had been warned not to fetch him food or drink, he knew that a bath would not be refused.

It took only a short time for the basin to be brought in, the water cold to the touch. He found it more convenient to simply heat the water with magic than to wait, and in short order he was neck-deep in hot water, his wet hair dripping onto the stone floor as he tipped his head back. It was an easy thing, then, to pretend that he was in his rooms of his own volition and not out of punishment fit more for a child. Easy to recall the shift of muscle in Thor’s thighs as they rode together, the hand that laid flat against Loki’s body as he began to grow lax with sleep. 

The longing he kept locked away when outside his rooms grew then, coiling low in his belly. There was an itch to answer it, to slip his hand beneath the water and take hold of himself and stroke his way to completion, but he refused. His limbs felt heavy, his mind fogged with exhaustion that stemmed not from the day's activities, but from appearing unmoved by his father’s open disdain. Closing his eyes, Loki shoved away all thoughts but those of his magic and his music. He hummed, his fingers drumming out a sad counterpoint against the copper basin.

He was unaware of falling asleep, but woke to find the water had gone cold and a fire blazing in his hearth. Thor was asleep in a chair he dragged over, his long legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankle. It was a miracle the giant oaf had not slipped from his seat.

The water splashed as Loki stood, and the sound roused Thor, who climbed to his feet as well, holding a linen towel. Rather than relinquish it, he batted aside Loki’s outstretched hand and moved in, wrapping the cloth around him as Loki stepped out of the tub. On the table behind Thor sat a platter piled high with cheese, bread, fruit and meat; a hearty fare that Odin had forbidden his younger son.

“You should not go against father,” Loki murmured, but he did not hesitate to reach for the food, his stomach growling. “It will only strengthen his anger with me.”

Thor waited for Loki to take a seat at the table before dragging over his own chair. When he sat, it was so close that Loki could feel Thor’s very breath upon his shoulder.

“He would have stopped me, but mother bade him to see reason. Our people do not starve, because we care for them; how then would he force upon you what he will not see even the most common man suffer?”

Loki took a bit of cheese, breaking it in half to share with Thor. “She is poetic with her words and father is weak to them.”

“Your punishment is to spend tomorrow training with me and my friends.” He smirked. “He has forgotten that tomorrow we spend only half the day on the field and the rest at our leisure, but I did not see a reason to burden him with such knowledge.”

“A pity. I should think it would have been well worth it for his expression alone.”

The smile on Thor’s face slid away, his brows slanting down. “You would be mistaken. He would only find some new means of reprimand, and I would not see you bear it alone. Nay, I prefer it this way. He will be in meetings all day, from which we have both been excused. We can spend the afternoon in the garden, and you can enchant us all with your music. You have not played in two days by my counting.”

“No, I have not.” Having eaten his fill, Loki stood and crossed to his wardrobe. He withdrew a simple night shift, choosing to forgo sleep hose. As he dressed, Thor cleared away the food, handing the empty platter to the page in the hall before returning.

“Would you sleep alone tonight?” he asked after a long pause.

Loki peered back at Thor as he climbed into his bed. “We are not children, brother. Bad enough you defied father to bring me food, but to stay here….”

“Would you then send me away?”

Just the thought left Loki aching, and he shook his head in mute reply. 

“Good.” 

Thor undressed, kicking aside his boots and shirt but leaving on his trousers. In the bed, they drew together the curtains, shutting out the light of the fire. An arm settled low over Loki’s hips, but he did not shrug it off. The silence stretched on, and between one breath and the next, Loki lost his battle with sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made some edits, extended a few scenes, and now broken it down into more chapters to help with the overall flow.

Loki was in the library, enjoying the peace and quiet of the late morning when the door opened with a thunderous crash. The sound reverberated throughout the large room, and Loki scowled as he closed the heavy volume in his hands. Whoever it was, they had disrupted him, and he intended to make sure they knew of their insult. His poisonous mood lasted only as long as it took for the curtain of the window seat to be drawn back, revealing a beaming Thor dressed in riding leathers. He smiled despite himself as Thor crowded in beside until they were pressed together from shoulder to thigh.

“Brother, I have been searching for you for _ages_.”

“And yet,” Loki said, lips curving into a fond smirk, “it took you until now to find me. I am only ever here or in my rooms. I should not think it so hard to find me, unless you were distracted?”

Thor had the grace to appear contrite at that. “I should have realized, but mother thought she had seen you in the garden just after breakfast.” His gaze slipped to the window, and he leaned in a little closer. “The weather is fair, brother. Volstagg has suggested a hunt.”

What small joy Loki had found in Thor’s presence vanished, and he sneered. “Oh yes, let us invite _Loki_ on a hunt. Loki, who cannot throw a spear or shoot an arrow, who is just as apt to cut off his own arm as he is to kill a small woodland creature whenever he swings a sword. As _gracious_ as your invitation is, my brother, I cannot accept.”

“You are not required to participate in the hunt. Come and enjoy the forest. Bring your books!”

“Yes, let me do just that. And then, whilst we sit around the fire, I can pretend not to notice the way your friends ridicule me at every turn!” Furious, Loki shoved his way past Thor, abandoning his hideaway. He turned to continue his rant, only to find the words lost as he gazed upon his brother’s face. “I will not subject myself to the mockery of your friends.”

When Thor spoke, his voice was soft, his lips barely moving to form the words. “I would never let them. They mean it only in jest, Loki, for you keep yourself so carefully locked away from those who only wish to know you.”

“An easy thing for you to say, my dear, favored brother. You are the apple of our father’s eye, well-loved by all the people of our kingdom… I am but a failure in the eyes of our father, an aberration from birth, so different, I from you.”

“Mother dotes upon you. _I_ dote upon you. Father…” Thor fell silent. 

There were no comforting words to be offered in that moment. It was true, their father had always treated Loki differently, holding him at arms length, even as he pulled Thor and their cousins closer. Even after so many years, there was no curbing the sting of rejection that Loki felt every time his father’s gaze slipped over his head with the ease of someone who practiced the art of overlooking an unwanted child. And Loki had no doubt that that was exactly what he was, no matter what his brother and mother said to the contrary.

“Father has already chosen his heir, for all that he continues to pretend there is some question as to who will sit upon his throne once he has passed. This is a warrior’s kingdom, so it is of no surprise that he would wish his warrior son to take his place.”

Thor smiled then, a sly thing that had Loki’s stomach twisting in on itself sharply. “And you are no warrior, of that I can attest.” He sobered, moving to stand so there was hardly more than a hand’s breadth between them. “But that does not make you any less worthy, you must see that. If I had a choice in the matter, I would relinquish my claim to the throne and instead lead our kingdom’s armies into greatness.” He looked as though he was going to say more, but then Lady Sif was there, dressed in her riding leathers and her face a mask of impatience.

“There you are! The others are waiting. The horses have been ready for hours.”

“It has hardly been one since I left your company in the throne room,” Thor said, his tone light. His attention returned to Loki, his expression almost pleading. “Come with us, brother. If for no other reason than to put some distance between you and the palace. It will clear your head.”

Loki shook his head, resolved in his decision to remain behind. It was no different than any other time Thor attempted to wheedle him into joining them, but for the first time in four years, Loki felt almost compelled to say yes. Guilt burned low in his gut as Thor frowned, but he remained resolute, watching in silence as his brother and Lady Sif swept out of the room.

His inclination to read gone, Loki exited the library, making his way to his rooms. He paused just outside Thor’s door, listening to the sound of him hastily packing, and he raised a hand to knock, only to withdraw at the last moment. There was no point in engaging Thor, not when it would only lead to more pressure for Loki to join them. Instead, he barricaded himself in his room, exchanging his book for his decade old battered violin.

Standing before the windows overlooking the courtyard, Loki settled his violin under his chin, shoulders back. He could see the group waiting below, could pick out the mass of hair that set Volstagg apart from the others, and his grip on the bow tightened briefly. It was impossible to hear anything through the wall of stone separating his room from Thor’s, but Loki imagined his brother had already left. Gaze locked on the path leading from the castle to the courtyard, Loki lifted his violin and settled in against his collar, letting his chin rest upon it. He had outgrown the instrument years before, but Odin had dismissed his request for a new one.

The first note was bittersweet, drawing out the longing Loki kept buried deep within himself and spinning it out into the room. The melancholy that always settled over him when Thor was gone from his side swept in low, a hum that gradually grew darker. He reached high, his anger bleeding through to spoil the ominous melody, and the E string snapped, startling him out of his thoughts.

“I see my gift is well-timed.”

Loki whirled around, his bow falling from his hand as he attempted to rein in his surprise. “I thought you had left.”

“If I do not hurry, Sif will leave without me, but I wanted to bring you this.” 

Thor held out his hands, and it was only then that Loki noticed the case he was holding. His heart stopped, then began again, fast and loud, not unlike the rhythm of hoof beats on a dirt path. Setting aside his childhood violin, Loki reached for the case, ashamed at how his hands trembled as he took it.

“But what—?”

“I meant it to be your birthing-gift, but I could not wait.”

Loki chanced a glance at Thor’s face before carrying the case to the bed, Thor following suit. He sat down heavily, his fingers hovering for only a moment over the clasps before setting to work. When he lifted the lid, his breath left him once more, and it took him several seconds to find his voice.

“It is beautiful.”

“It suits you. It used to be I would hear you playing at all hours of the day, and now it is a rare treat. I may have peeked at your violin a few months ago and decided that a new instrument was in order.”

“And much appreciated, brother.”

With great care, Loki lifted the violin free of its case and ran gentle fingers over the neck, soundboard and ribs. The weight was perfect, and when he plucked one of the strings, it rang clear and true. Loki glanced up, startled, to find Thor watching him with a sheepish grin.

“It was not me, though I would have liked to do so for you. The gentleman I commissioned to make it tuned it this morning.”

Loki blinked, then smiled. “It is a beautiful gift, and one I do not think myself worthy of.” The tightness of his grip upon the neck belied his words, and he knew that Thor had seen as much. There was no hiding such things from his brother, not when they concerned Loki directly.

“I should like to find the person who has caused you to believe so,” Thor replied, his lips thinning into a smile that held no warmth. “Perhaps I could show them the error in their ways.”

It was upon Loki’s tongue to state that it was their father who had ingrained Loki with a sense of worthlessness, but to do so would only sour the mood. Instead, he lifted the violin and set it against his collarbone. Before he could reach for it himself, Thor was handing him the bow, and Loki settled it against the strings.

The first note was deep; not sad, but rather content. He moved through a set of scales that had nothing to do with tuning, and more to do with learning the violin’s strengths and weaknesses. He considered playing a song, but at that moment, a great pounding came, and Thor lurched to his feet once more.

“And now I am late. I will be lucky if Sif does not stick me on cooking during our entire trip.” He started towards the door, only to turn back once more. Loki had only a second to tuck the violin back in its case before he was being jerked into a tight hug. “I expect you to play for me when I return,” Thor whispered. Then he was gone, taking with him Loki’s good mood.

As the door shut behind Thor, Loki retreated to his bed, his thoughts not yet so unpleasant that a nap would not be worthwhile. He shed his boots, then climbed beneath the covers and pulled them tight about his shoulders, imagining, for just a moment, Thor there with him, solid and warm. He could still feel the smooth grain of the violin’s wood beneath his fingertips, could see, when he closed his eyes, the look of pleasure in Thor’s gaze to find his gift so cherished, and he wrapped himself in those memories. That evening, perhaps, Loki would run her through a series of melodies to discover which she sang the best. If he was lucky, he might find the motivation to write something new, a gift to Thor to express Loki’s thanks. 

Mind at rest, Loki slipped into a light doze, not waking until long past midday. When he rose, it was to find a light meal laid out on the table and a note from his brother written in hasty hand.

_Brother,  
_

_I asked the young page who lurks daily outside your door to make certain you eat. I thought perhaps a letter would encourage more than just a few bites to make their way into your stomach. I worry, when I am gone, for I know you are not of a mind to care for yourself, not as you should._

_I would warn you not to make father cross, but sometimes I think, dear brother, that you provoke him purposefully. Pray, do not, for I hate to think of you alone and angry._

_If we are successful in our hunt, there will leather for new boots as well as food. I have noticed of late how worn yours appear. Until such a time, be well and enjoy your new violin._

_Ever your loving brother,_

_Thor_

Never before had Thor thought to leave a letter behind while off hunting, and though a part of Loki wondered at the sudden change, the larger part did not care. It was enough to be thought of, pleasing to know Thor had taken the time to not only write the letter himself, but to see it was delivered. With a lighter heart, Loki took a seat at the table and pulled the tray of food close.

Amongst the usual midday fare were a few desserts Loki enjoyed. Another mark of Thor’s affectionate attention, and one readily accepted. The crust of the pastry flaked and melted upon Loki’s tongue, the juices from the baked fruits tart and sweet all at once. He polished off four before pausing, a wry smile curling his lips up at the corners as Loki leaned back in his seat. His belly was full, his appetite sated, and he found now that it was impossible to remain caught up in the melancholy of Thor’s absence.

He stirred from the chair only when his stomach no longer ached from overindulgence, and reached for his cloak, desiring a walk in the gardens. It was easy enough to avoid his father, contained as he was in the council chambers, but just as he reached the hall leading out into the courtyard, his mother appeared.

“I am surprised to find you here. Your brother had high hopes he would convince you to join the hunt.”

Loki frowned. “Indeed, he was quite thorough in his attempts, but…” He trailed off, uncertain how to put into words his feelings regarding the smaller hunting parties. 

When he said nothing further, Frigga tucked her arm through his, leading him down the steps. “Walk with me?”

“You have only to ask.” 

They kept a slow pace, no true goal in mind outside taking advantage of the afternoon sun. Loki allowed himself the time to simply enjoy his mother’s company and the rare, easy silence between them. Soon enough, they reached the long bench at the heart of the garden. Frigga took a seat at the end, then drew Loki down to lay with his head upon her lap, her hand a gentle weight over his heart.

“I miss the age when you and Thor would lose yourself for hours in here, playing hide-and-seek while I read. Do you remember the picnic we had—you were just gone eight, and a visiting lord’s son stole Thor’s honeycake while he was climbing a tree. You were so furious, you wanted to turn him into a leech. I convinced you not to, but only just. Then you disappeared, and when you returned—”

“When I returned, I had _three_ honeycakes for Thor. He was ridiculously pleased, and the spoilt boy dropped his in the dirt and cried for hours.” 

The memory brought with it a smile, genuine and warm, and Loki laughed to recall the expression of stout refusal on Thor’s face when it was suggested he share. It was not so different from the one he wore still, when faced with choices he did not care for. Thor was no less spoiled now than he was then, and though it pained Loki to admit so, he found it rather endearing, if only because his brother proved also his responsibility and maturity in his thoughts of Asgard and her people. 

They stayed like that, the sun warm upon their skin as Frigga shared more stories. It was peaceful, the usual tension Loki felt when not distracted by music or his brother blessedly absent. Too soon, though, his back began to ache from the unforgiving firmness of the stone beneath him, and he sat up with a sigh.

“What will you do for the rest of the day?” Frigga asked, as they made their way back toward the castle.

It was a good question. There were no new spells he wished to test, and though he had several books beside his bed yet to be opened, he lacked the desire to explore them.

“Thor gifted me a new violin. I would like to see how she plays through one of my easier pieces.” He paused in the doorway. “Would you care to join me?”

Frigga smiled, cupping his cheek with one hand. “Would, that I had the time. The meeting ends soon and your father will need a respite from all his duties. But perhaps later? Ladies Jane and Darcy will be joining us tonight… I know you and your father have not seen eye-to-eye as of late, but it would mean the world to me if you would dine with us this evening.”

It was customary for Loki to take his meals in his room when Thor was away on a hunt or—the Gods forbid, a battle—and though he was loathe alter his plans, he hated to disappoint his mother.

“If you so wish it, Mother, then of course I will join you,” Loki replied at last, careful to keep all censure from his tone. He considered himself successful when she smiled widely at him.

“Good. Now go enjoy the rest of the afternoon by yourself.”

A quick touch of her lips to his cheek and she was gone, the trail of her skirt disappearing around the corner. Loki lingered a while longer, unhurried until the sound of approaching footsteps had him underway to his room. Three hours with his mother was never wasted time, but the company of any others not she or his brother held little appeal.

A restlessness still clung to him, even as Loki withdrew his new instrument and began to put her through the paces, but for the time being, he ignored it. He tucked her tight against his collarbone, set the bow to the strings, and let his music wash away the last of his worries.

**. . .**

Loki was last to arrive for supper, and upon taking his seat, was treated to one of Odin’s censorious expressions.

“I was under the impression you had decided to join Thor and the others on their hunt.”

Loki arched a brow at him. “Who led you to believe that?”

“You were not in attendance during the counsel meeting. As such, I was under the assumption that you were not here.”

“Odin, I told you Loki had declined their invitation. He was in his rooms, practicing.”

“Practicing,” Odin repeated.

“Uncle, have you heard him play recently?” Jane smiled brightly when Odin turned to face her. “He’s quite talented. The bard who passed through not two weeks ago commented upon it as well. He said that the only thing holding Loki back was his instrument. That it was too outdated. He has a new one now.”

“A new one?”

“A gift,” Loki said. “From Thor.”

“Hmm. Perhaps you will play for us tonight? Your mother was complaining that the evenings are too quiet now that there are no children running about underfoot.”

Loki stilled, struggling to contain his surprise at the request. A glance at his mother told him that she was just as taken aback. “I would be glad to, father… if you are certain?”

“Of course I am certain.” 

For the first time, Loki noted just how worn out the king sounded, and how the lines of his face had grown deeper. Even the blue of his eyes was no longer quite as bright. 

“Are you unwell?” Loki asked, unable to keep quiet.

“Unwell? No, no. Just… tired. Eat your supper, Loki, and let an old man enjoy his own.”

His request signaled the end of all conversation, and the group fell silent as they ate. Loki used the time to choose which pieces he would perform, deliberating casting aside the easier melodies in favor of those that would earn him notice and, perhaps, appreciation. When they were done, the servants cleared the table and Loki excused himself to his rooms.

The stiff, formal clothing Loki was currently wearing was less than conducive to playing the violin, so he exchanged his outfit for one more relaxed and loose. He lifted the violin from its case, testing the surety of the strings, then checking the bow. Assured that everything was in order, Loki made his way up to his mother’s solar room.

Jane was already in attendance, as well as Darcy and their handmaidens. Odin entered a moment later with Frigga at his elbow. As he waited for everyone to get settled, Loki went through his scales, readjusting the strings until each note sang true. 

“Have you any requests?” he asked.

Several voices offered up suggestions, but it was Odin Loki took note of. He set the bow to the strings, drawing out the first long, sad note. Sometime halfway through, his audience faded away and Loki lost himself to the music. One song became the next, not a breath to separate them. Only when his arm grew tired and his fingers numb did he stop, and he blinked into the fading light.

On the sofa, Jane and Darcy were sound asleep, tipped into one another. A quick glance around showed that only Frigga was awake, her hand all but lost in Odin’s sleep-slack grip. She smiled at him, easing away from her husband so she could stand. She embraced him, and the scent of her perfume brought back memories of old, of he and Thor hiding beneath their parents’ bed, heads sharing their mother’s pillow. Just like that, the longing he had been holding at bay since Thor’s departure crashed over him.

He pulled away stiffly, and when he smiled, he knew it was not convincing. Frigga made no comment, though. Cupping his cheeks, she tilted his head down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

“Off to bed with you. Your father is meeting with the council in the morning, so perhaps I shall join you for breakfast?”

“I would be grateful for the company,” he replied.

He left his mother to rouse the others, wandering the darkened corridors. There were only a few servants out, and they nodded politely as he passed, one of the chambermaids offering up a sweet smile. In his room, he shed his clothes, pulling on a dark green shift and black sleep hose. He stopped at the end of the bed, then glanced at the door. He knew the risk of being found out was high, that should his father be the one to discover him, Loki would no doubt be punished, but Thor would be gone for the next two nights, and already the ache of separation had settled into his bones. 

A quick check proved the hallway empty, and Loki slipped from his room to Thor’s on silent feet. The room was, unsurprisingly, a wreck, but Loki sidestepped the mess and climbed onto the giant bed. He breathed out, relief flooding through him as his head came to rest upon Thor’s pillow. It smelled of wood smoke and sunshine. Of unbridled energy and strength. It smelled of home, and offered Loki the sense of peace he felt only when Thor was near.

**. . .**

The sun had not yet risen when Loki woke, and he took a minute to simply lie there, breathing in Thor’s scent. The very marrow of his bones ached, and he wished desperately that he taken Thor up on his invitation to join them. Always, Loki refused, and always, within a day, he regretted his choice. At some point in the near future, he would do well to take note of this detrimental pattern and change it.

He turned to lie on his back, eyes tracing the weave of the canopy. He remembered lying in this bed when he was sixteen, Thor’s breath fanning the back of his neck and the sheet tangled about their legs. It had been the coldest winter yet, and the chill had settled into Loki’s body with a vengeance, gifting him with a lingering cough. While the rest of the castle’s occupants had continued with their work, Loki had been confined to his bed, too tired and weak to stand for more than a few minutes at a time. 

Thor had been required to train despite the frost that had settled over the field. When not with the sword master, he was with Odin, attending council, hearing the complaints of the townspeople and fulfilling his duties as heir. During the night, however, he would slip into Loki’s room and curl his body around Loki’s, doing what the heated rocks at the foot of the bed had failed to do: give Loki a measure of warmth.

Loki wanted nothing more than to feel Thor’s heat once more, to have the heavy weight of Thor’s thick, muscled arm holding him close. His eyes slid halfway shut, as he let the memory wash over, and he sighed as his hand slid down his body. Loki’s fingers were warm as they wrapped about his cock, and he breathed out a sigh, arching into his own touch. Too many times he considered doing this, bringing himself to completion in Thor’s bed, but always, in every fantasy, it was Thor’s hand touching him.

An idea struck him then, and Loki’s movements faltered. He loosened his grip and relaxed his body, focusing on the threads of his magic. It was not hard to recall the shape of Thor’s calloused hands, the thick, blunt-tipped fingers and how one could be deceived into thinking Thor’s touch would be rough. Rather, his grip could be deceptively gentle, his hands cupping with surprising tenderness where others would simply grab.

Loki called up an image of Thor’s hands in his mind, and his magic worked to reproduce it. He taught the invisible fingers to move of their own accord, then shoved his sleep hose down and off, shivering when the covers lifted and let in some of the early-morning chill. The hands helped, rucking his shirt up until Loki stripped it off, then they were touching him, stroking over his ribs. Thumbs brushed over his chest and his nipples pebbled at the contact. 

He tried to imagine what Thor would look like if he were there, how his eyes would darken like the skies before a storm, intent as he learned every plane of Loki’s body. He could picture too well the expression of studious care Thor would wear as he took hold of Loki’s cock, the corner of his mouth tilting up when Loki moaned beneath him. He shivered, imagining the rough drag of Thor’s beard against his skin.

There was a unsteady rhythm to every panted breath, a melody thrumming through his veins, and he closed his eyes, picturing the music as it would appear on paper. When the fingers trailing over his body made to breach him, Loki choked on a gasp. A tendril of magic slicked him, and then the fingers pushed in, two at once. That was all it took to have him coming, his whole body shaking as he spilled over his stomach. The hands disappeared, his concentration shattered by his orgasm. With a groan, Loki reached for his shirt and mopped up the mess.

When he calmed once more, Loki glanced out the window. The sun was just rising over the trees, and he knew his mother would soon come to join him in his room. He rolled from the bed, wincing at the cold stone floor beneath his feet, and stumbled over to where Thor’s dressing gown hung. He tugged it on, belting it in place, and tiptoed to the door to listen. The guards would pay him no mind: their very lives depended upon their ability to maintain the secrets of their princes, and so he ignored their presence as he swept out of Thor’s room and entered his own. He would have to return later and clean the mess he had made, but that could wait. Thor would not return for a few hours yet.

Loki readied himself quickly, washing up in the basin on his table before dragging on fresh pair of trousers and a shirt. Not for the first time, he regretted his decision not to have a manservant, but it was a small sacrifice in the face of maintaining his privacy. There was a knock announcing his mother’s arrival just as he was pulling on his boots, and he combed his hair with his fingers before letting her in.

“Mother,” Loki said, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“My son. Did you sleep well?” There was genuine concern in her voice, and Loki smiled.

“I did. And you?”

She laughed as she took a seat at his table. There was another knock, to which Loki called out entrance. A servant came in, a perfectly balanced tray in his hands. He bowed once before unloading their breakfast and left without a word.

“I slept soundly, as did your father. You play beautifully, son. Thor does not stop praising your skill whenever the subject of music arises.”

Loki could feel his cheeks heat and he would have turned away, but his mother’s hand on his chin stopped him. 

“Do not be ashamed of your gift, my son.”

“A worthless gift for a son born to a family of a warriors,” Loki said, tone bitter.

Frigga sighed and withdrew her hand. “I will not do you the disservice of denying your father’s disappointment, but know this: I am forever blessed that you are as you are. I would have you no other way, my son.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Enough of such serious talk. I was thinking a walk in the gardens after breakfast? We can meet Thor in the courtyard after, and you can let him regale you with tall tales of heroic deeds.”

Loki chuckled despite himself. It was true; whenever Thor returned from a hunt, it was with some new story of how he saved the lives of his friends with only his sword. Lies, all of them, but they were enjoyable to hear nonetheless, if only because Thor’s attention was entirely upon impressing Loki.

“A walk sounds lovely, mother,” Loki agreed. They lapsed into silence for the rest of the meal, but it was not strained.

When they were done, Loki grabbed his long coat, then joined his mother in the hall. They walked together to her rooms where she retrieved her own coat, after which they descended the stairs to the courtyard and made their way to the rose garden maze.

“Your father is feeling the stress of his age, I think. He has been anxious all morning. He offered to walk with me when I told him I was going out, but I declined.” She glanced over at Loki, and he could only imagine what his expression looked like to have her eyebrows rising so high. “Do not worry. I told him only that I wished to spend some time in the rose maze. You know how sensitive your father’s nose is to their fragrance. He rescinded his offer rather quickly after that.”

“I can imagine. The council meetings have been far from pleasant as of late, what with the coming of winter. The peasants worry, with reason, that this will be the worst yet. The cold has yet to set in fully, and many say it is a sign that the frost this year will be devastating.”

“Your father is concerned there is truth to the rumors. He intends to bring up the subject during today’s council meeting.” 

Her eyes went to the castle walls as she spoke, searching for some sign of Thor’s return. It was nearing midmorning already, and at the very least, Thor would would cross through the gates within the next hour. They settled on a stone bench together to wait, but Loki knew, without understanding how, that Thor would not be returning in time for the meeting, if at all that day.

**. . .**

Loki slid into Thor’s seat at the council meeting and very deliberately did not meet his father’s gaze. He knew too well the look of disappointment that would be there. Before Odin could put to words his displeasure, the rest of the council members filed in, followed by several pages. The boys moved about the room, placing pots of ink, quills and parchment onto the tables for the council. The youngest page, no more than eight or nine, fumbled slightly, and the inkpot he had been attempting to place before Loki fell to the ground with a crash.

Before a word could be said, Loki leaned over the table with his hand outstretched. A wave of his fingers had the bottle repairing itself and the ink returning to its confines. He caught it nimbly and offered the bottle to the page, who took it with wide, awe-filled eyes.

“Enough of your tricks, Loki. Let the boy continue his work.” Odin dismissed the page with a wave of his hand. “You may begin, Councilman Askel.”

Loki sat back in his seat, mouth forming a tight line. Already Odin’s mood was sour, his anger directed at his youngest son. The next few hours would be hellish, to say the least. Donning a bland expression, Loki listened to the latest complaints brought before the King. To his left sat Councilman Branstock Enarson, a younger man some twenty years Odin’s junior and not predisposed toward disdain for Loki. It was fortunate, for when Loki attempted twice to offer his opinion on the matter of the meager crop season experienced by some of northern border villages, he was silenced by his father.

“Write it down,” Branstock whispered, feigning a yawn to cover his words.

It was petty, using his magic for such, but Loki was bored and magic was one of the few things that brought him pleasure as of late. Under the guise of offering his pocket linen to Branstock, Loki let his hand hover above a blank sheet of parchment, smirking as words bled onto the page. A quirk of his eyebrow was the only indication of Branstock’s amusement.

“There are three villages along the southern border that have experienced a successful crop season. Their merchants rarely make it as far as the castle for fear of being attacked by bandits. Perhaps we could arrange a trade? They are on the border of Alfheim and are not allowed to hunt in the forests lining their lands.”

As the councilmen broke into discussion amongst themselves, Branstock leaned close to Loki. “A fine mind you have there, my lord. One to rival that of your brother’s. It is a shame you are not heard on your own merits.”

“Where do you think my brother gets his ideas?” Loki inquired, a sly smile curving his lips. “That was not the first time I used such a trick. Thor is quite dedicated in his note-taking, and I am equally so in supplying him with possible solutions.”

“And yet you receive no credit.”

“Thor is ever generous with his gratitude. My misfortune was in being the second born son.” He lapsed into silence once more when Odin called the group to order.

The conversation moved on after that, covering everything from the current state of the lower town to the rumors concerning a breach of the Jotunheim-Asgard border. The last subject was the upcoming Midsummer feast. Loki tuned out much of the conversation, worrying instead over the idea that there were Jötunns in Asgard. Dangerous as it was to have an enemy within the kingdom, there were few in Asgard who understood the kind of magic Loki practiced, and fewer still who were not afraid of it. He knew without a doubt that if there were a Jötunn in the kingdom, he or she would make their way to the castle’s city. His only hope was to find them before they were caught.


	3. Chapter 3

The lower town was quiet as Loki passed through the streets. Somewhere down the road a tavern door opened for a brief moment, but only a low buzz of conversation escaped before it shut again. There were no celebrations, no gatherings of the common people. It was almost depressing, but Loki pressed on. He kept to the shadows when possible, straying onto the open path only when necessary. Few knew the face of the less worthy son of King Odin, particularly those who had never been inside the palace walls.

He was nearing an inn whose lights were bright in the dying sunlight when a hand caught him by the elbow. Loki was startled enough that he allowed himself to be tugged into an alley, but the moment he regained himself, his dagger was out and the tip was biting into the soft flesh just beneath his assailant’s ear.

“A foolish choice indeed, to lay your hands upon a stranger. I could kill you where you stand. Now, state your name and purpose, and then I shall see how merciful I am feeling.”

“My apologies, m’lord. T’was a mistake, though genuinely made.”

“And who, _sir_ ,” Loki asked with dripping disdain, “Are you? Your accent is not Asgardian.”

“I am Aakon, and I come from a kingdom not far from here.”

“You claimed to mistake me. How so?”

“I thought you were someone else. You see—” He paused to lick his lips. “You see, m’lord, you bear the mark.”

Loki stared at him in silence, eyes narrowed. “What mark do you speak of?”

Aakon’s eyes darted past Loki’s shoulder, then back to his face once more. “You bear a mark, on the back of your right shoulder. I saw it by chance five days previous, when you were down at the river with—with your friends.”

“It was my brother and his obnoxious companions. Believe me when I say that his friends are not my own.” His grip tightened and he shook Aakon’s shoulder hard. “Why were you spying on us? And do not lie to me, for I shall know.”

“I was not, I swear it. I am here with my son. We are merchants. My cart is at the inn in middle town.”

“What of this mark, then?”

There was deceit in Aakon’s words when he spoke next, but it was deliberate. “T’was probably nothing, m’lord. Forgive me.”

Loki’s dagger dug deeper into the man’s neck, and a single drop of blood trailed down the silver blade. “I will ask you again, and this time, perhaps you will think twice about lying to me. What. Is. The. Mark?” He punctuate each word with a press of his dagger, careful to keep from breaking the skin further, but allowing the threat to make known that death was in the cards.

“It is the mark of the Royal House of Laufey!” Aakon spoke in a rush, and the fear widening his eyes was genuine.

“Laufey!” Loki repeated. His fingers went numb and he nearly dropped his dagger as he stepped back. “King Laufey, of Jotunheim? That cannot be. You are mistaken.” 

The distance permitted Aakon to regain some semblance of calm, and when he spoke again, Loki could sense the falseness in Aakon’s pretense of sincerity.

“Of course, m’lord. My apologies. I only saw it briefly and I thought—I thought perhaps you were the missing son, but I see now that I was wrong. You are a son of Odin. Please, m’lord. Look for yourself. It is nothing like this.” He held out his hand, and lying in the center of his palm was a coin, worn but clearly marked. He pressed it into Loki’s hand, staring up at him with deceptively guileless eyes.

Loki moved away completely, wiping his blade clean on his cloak before hiding it away once more. “Speak of this to no one,” he ordered. He left before Aakon could reply. Not wanting to be seen and questioned for his presence in lower town, Loki cloaked himself in shadows, the faint tingling of a spell slipping over his skin. By the time he reached the outskirts of middle town, he was invisible to the untrained eye. He hastened his steps, breaking out into a run only when the castle doors were within sight.

Once safely inside the castle walls, Loki let the spell fall, startling a maid. He spared her only the briefest of glances, less concerned about her well-being than he was of Aakon’s words. Though his rooms were only on the second floor of the castle, the journey seemed far and long. He kept his mind deliberately blank until the door was shut behind him, and even then, he did not allow himself to think on Aakon’s words until he was standing before the tall looking glass beside his armoire. 

His fingers shook as he undid the laces of his shirt, and he had to close his eyes to his reflection. As Loki slipped the garment over his head, he turned his back to the glass and reached for the hand mirror he had purchased just the day before for Lady Jane’s upcoming birthday. He had thought it a pretty thing then, a trite but genuine gift to a young woman he cared little for. Now it was the speaker of truths, unveiling the lie that shrouded the only life he knew: that of Loki Odinson, second in line to the Asgardian crown.

With a shout of rage that had the guards pounding at his door, Loki hurled the ornate mirror across the room. It shattered against the wall, but the sound fell on deaf ears as he turned his rage inward. Loki seethed as he snatched up his shirt, and he cursed loudly when he became tangled in the sleeves. He was not yet set to rights when he stormed across the room and snatched open the door, but the angry words he had been prepared to impart upon the guards died when he found, instead, a moderately concerned Odin on the other side.

Odin’s gaze moved to Loki’s bared shoulder, then past him to the large mirror. Loki could see the moment his false-father understood what had caused Loki’s outburst in the way Odin’s face closed off, all signs of care disappearing.

“Leave us,” Odin ordered.

The guards scrambled to obey and Loki moved aside, shutting the door as an afterthought once his threshold had been breached. He watched as Odin bent to pick something up from the floor and realized that it was the coin a second too late.

“Who told you?” Odin asked after the silence between them had stretched on long enough.

“Does it matter? That is the mark upon my shoulder. The very same one you told me was nothing more than anomaly from my birth.”

“I did not lie,” Odin said. His voice was flat, even, and as cold as ever, if not more so.

“No. No, I suppose you did not. For that is exactly what it is, is it not? It is the royal mark of _our enemy_! How?”

“Because that is where you were born, in Jotunheim.”

Loki laughed even as his heart broke. For years he had known Odin did not hold him in the same regard as he did Thor, but Loki had thought it because he was not a warrior. Instead, it was because he was no son of Odin at all.

“How? How did I come to live here, then, in this castle, with this family?” 

Odin sighed, tired, and he took a seat at Loki’s table. “I brought you here, that is how. When you were just a few weeks old, I brought you from the very depths of Jotunheim to Asgard, where I raised you as my own.”

“That is a lie. You have never raised me as your own. Always, false-father, I have known my worth in your eyes, and it was never as a son. Now, at least, I understand that I was not mistaken as Thor claimed. Why, though? Why bring me here?”

“Is it not enough to know that I did?”

Loki slammed both his hands down upon the table, unable to mute the fury erupting out of him at Odin’s easy disregard. “Of course it matters! Why have you brought me here? What purpose was there? For there was, I know it. Never have you done anything without reason.”

“I did it to protect my people,” Odin said.

“Your—your people.” The fight left Loki in a great flood, and he sank down onto the chair opposite Odin, eyes darting here and there over the battered surface of his table. “What do you—how? I do not understand.”

“We were at war with Jotunheim, and vast as our army was, I knew we were at a grave disadvantage. In one last show of strength, we stormed the castle in the dead of night. A great battle was fought, and Laufey fell. To kill him unarmed as he was would have been a shame upon my own crown, but there was no guarantee he would not come after us the moment we withdrew. It was then that I learned Laufey had finally produced a living heir. With the king wounded and his guards dead, there was no one to stop me from taking you. My promise to him was that as long as his people did not cross our borders or send spies from another kingdom into our land, you life would be spared.” 

Odin’s tone was unforgiving, and Loki could only stare at him in shock, eyes burning, as he watched the man he had called father stand. He wanted to say something, to demand that Odin take back his terrible words, but he could not find his voice.

“If it is of any consolation, I raised you as best I could, and your mother loves you as though you were truly one of her own.” Odin headed for the door, his weariness plain in his slow movements. “Perhaps you can take heart in that,” he added before he swept out of the room.

Odin’s words continued to echo through the room long after he took is leave, taunting Loki. His fingers tingled, and when he curled his hands into fists, he felt only the vaguest of sensations. Twice he made to stand, only to have his legs refuse to hold him, and at last Loki gave up on escaping the sudden overwhelming confines of his room. No longer did it feel like a sanctuary, but a prison, finely dressed in the deception of its creator. 

When Loki closed his eyes to steady himself, he pictured only the coldness in Odin’s gaze, the disdain that had always lurked there, hidden from everyone else but the false son of Asgard. 

There were a hundred memories, incidents where Loki felt himself going crazy at the perceived slights of his father toward him and they flooded to the surface, demanding recognition. He knew now how real it had all been, the mistreatment others had told him he was imagining. He felt vindicated, but more than that, Loki felt _angry_. 

Not one for inactive thought, Loki stood and crossed the room to the violins sitting side by side. His fingers curled around the bow of his older violin and gripped it tightly, cold satisfaction running through him as the wood gave way with a sharp crack. The violin was next, hitting the ground with a thud, splintering beneath his boot. The satisfaction of physical destruction was not, however, strong enough to bury the tumultuous emotions within him. It was not until he was reaching for the violin Thor had gifted him that something inside him shifted.

The moment Loki had wrapped his fingers around the neck of his very first violin years ago, the constant buzzing of thoughts inside his head, the tangle of feelings he did not know how to deal with, had settled into something manageable. He was able to focus, to pick apart every facet of what was consuming him in a way he never could before. Loki found that it was no different now as he lifted the instrument up, tucking it beneath his chin. He set its bow to the strings, and as he began to play, Loki let the music speak for him.

Growing up, there had always been a push from Odin for Loki to prove himself, an unspoken objection to his inability to fit in with the rest of his fellow Asgardians. It did not matter what he did, though, for it was never enough. If he showed his father— _false_ father, for that was what he was—high marks in his studies, far superior to anyone else’s, he was rewarded with a disapproving frown. On occasion, it was followed by the suggestion spend spend less time hiding behind books and more time training, so as not be so weak as to rely on his brother’s strength in the face of bullies. When he taught himself defensive magic, Odin had narrowed his eyes and said that while tricks were fine to pass the time, they did not replace the worth of a _real_ warrior, a true heir of Asgard.

In truth, nothing he could ever do would make him a son worthy of being called Prince of Asgard, and now Loki had his proof. It was in his blood, though he had had no way of knowing such until now. And of everything, that infuriated Loki the most. Odin had known all along that Loki would never live up to his standards, and yet he had insisted upon pushing, taunting Loki with a goal he could never achieve. 

It would not have been so bad, Loki thought, had Odin praised him just once, rather than raise his stolen son with only disdain and displeasure. When Loki accomplished a task set before him, he was cut down by cold words for finding a different means of doing so. Where Thor and the others showed their skill with a sword, Loki learned to wield his words like a weapon. Where they used their strength to overcome an obstacle, Loki used magic. And though the end result was the same, it was never enough that Loki found his own means of succeeding. 

He understood it now; Odin had not wanted to bear witness to his crimes. He had stolen a child of Jotunheim, a magic-user, and only when Loki was complacent was Odin able to overlook his transgression. It was a passing wonder, the desire to know if Odin would have loved Loki had they shared the same blood even while he was able to work magic. Would being a true son of Odin overshadow Loki’s differences? There were spells, he knew, that dated back before the great rift. Archaic both in language and in practice, but able to bind one bloodline to another. They had been used to force peace between feuding families when there were no other means of unification. 

It was a tempting thought, and one that near stilled his hands and fingers. Then he recalled the coldness in Odin’s tone when he had delivered the news, and he hesitated long enough for the note he was drawing out to grow sour in the air around him. Loki winced and took a deep breath before beginning once more. As his fingers slid over the strings and his wrist guided the bow through the appropriate movements, Loki turned his thoughts toward the other bright spot in his life. 

For all that magic and music were his passions, Thor was _everything_. Even when Loki had buried himself in jealousy over the way Odin clearly doted upon his brother, he could not hate Thor, not truly. It had not taken Loki long to realize the fault was not with Thor but with himself, and he felt a relief for that fact so swift and sudden that the bow skittered over the strings and clattered to the floor. As Loki bent to pick it up, another memory came to him.

He remembered being fourteen, young and naïve in the face of his own sexuality, and feeling the heat of arousal spread low in his belly as Thor’s thigh had pressed flush against his own under the sheets. He had been startled as much by the sharpness of the sensation as he was by the surety of what he was feeling, and toward whom. Fast on the heels of that had come shame, and though it was not the first time they would share a bed, from that moment on, Loki had taken greater care to hide his body’s response to Thor’s nearness.

It struck him then: Thor was not his brother. They shared no blood, no real relation. The knowledge was as relieving as it was devastating. The last family he felt genuine affection for and from, was not, in fact, family at all. What, he wondered, would Thor say when he learned the truth? Would he cut ties with Loki, cast him out as Odin clearly wished to do? The melody he was playing dipped low, his music an echo of tumultuous emotions running through him. 

Not even the thought of Frigga turning him away struck such fear in his heart. If Odin asked it, Loki would let them strip away his magic, bind his hands so he could never play again, if only to remain by Thor’s side. He could not imagine a life in which they were not together, and like that, Loki’s anger returned. His fury spiraled out, filled the room with high, sharp notes that hurt his ears. It had ceased to be music, warped into something else entirely by the vicious pull of his emotions.

It required concentrated effort to unravel the feelings of hate, despair and anguish, and even then, Loki felt torn apart inside, raw and battered with grief over the loss of an identity that had never truly existed. His hands shook as he strained to turn the splintered notes into something more real, moving from high to low, drowning out the negative emotions with ones that, while not exactly positive, still bore some semblance of warmth. 

Loki lost himself in his music, building back up the walls he had so carefully constructed around his heart over the years. There were now cracks, though, great gaps in the foundation that would send it all crumbling once more. The only person close enough to touch them, however, was Thor, and while Loki found it hard to believe he would not regret leaving them unfilled, he was physically and emotionally incapable of blocking his brother out completely. 

The hurt was still there, but for now it buried deep where Loki did not have to look at it. Instead, he forced all his attention on the purity of his music, of weaving together the notes into a melody he could later write down. It would not be a song he could share, not without exposing that part of him, but it gave Loki something benign to focus on. He lost himself in it, unaware of the passage of time, of anything outside each lingering note, until the sound of someone clearing his throat dragged him back into the present.

Loki glanced up, frowning at light filtering through the open curtains. It took him a moment to understand that the sun had managed to set and rise again, all without him being aware. He had played the entire night through. That in itself was unsurprising given that most knew not to bother him when he was playing. Music was his escape, and to interrupt was to risk Loki’s wrath. Only one person was so brave—or so stupid—, which meant the person at his door could only be—

“Brother. When you did not come to breakfast, I thought it best to investigate.”

“When did you return?”

“Late yesterday afternoon, just before before dinner. I was surprised when you did not appear in the courtyard. Father said you were not to be disturbed and I was so tired that I fell asleep before I could see if you had eaten. Now I can see that I was remiss in not checking on you sooner.”

“And what would you know of my eating habits?” Loki snapped. He regretted his angry words a second later, but Thor appeared nonplussed by his outburst.

Thor’s lips curved up in a smile. “I know that when left to your own devices, brother, you would play until you dropped dead from hunger.” His gaze dropped, and a frown appeared, his brows drawing together. “Loki, what have you done to your fingers?”

His grip was warm and gentle, his calloused fingers careful as he took hold of Loki’s wrist. It was only then that Loki noticed the state of his own fingers. He blinked twice, waiting for the pain to kick in as he watched Thor pry his fingers from where they had all but fused with the strings of his violin. For a long moment, nothing happened, then the blood began to well, and with it, the stinging pain of shredded skin. Thor tsk’d and Loki looked up at him.

“You are an idiot, brother,” Thor murmured. “Let me fetch the bandages, and then we shall tend to your stomach.”

Loki allowed himself to be guided over to his bed and he waited patiently as Thor gathered the wraps and ointment Loki kept on hand. When he sat down, it was close enough that Loki could feel the heat rising from his body, and his breath caught in his throat, an audible sound that had Thor glancing up at him.

“Does it hurt?” he asked. His voice was low, the concern in it genuine. 

“No, not as such,” Loki said. 

It was quite the opposite, though he dared not utter such a reply aloud. He tracked the movements of Thor’s fingers, their sheer agility, despite how thick and clumsy they normally appeared. When he was done, Thor lifted Loki’s hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to the tender fingertips. It should not have felt as intimate as it did, of that Loki was certain, but the knowledge did not stop a light flush from staining his cheeks.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He tried to tug his hand away, only to stop when Thor’s grip firmed. “What—”

“What ails you, brother? You have not lost yourself to your music like this since—”

Since the night Loki had truly understood his feelings for the man he called ‘brother,’ not that Thor knew it as such. That night, Loki had played for nearly twelve hours straight, his heart and soul pouring out with the chaotic notes. Then he had bottled up every single impure thought and shoved them as deep within himself as possible, burying them for all time.

“Fa—father,” he said, stuttering on the now empty title. “Father and I had an...argument. A disagreement on my role within this family.” He laughed, inwardly cringing at the bitterness of the sound. “Once again, I lost. Forever I have been a failure when it comes to Odin’s standards for a prince of Asgard, but until recently, I believed there still to be hope to prove myself.”

Thor leaned in close, his breath warm as it fanned across Loki’s cheek. The hand he curved over the back of Loki’s neck was firm and unrelenting. “Whatever father has said or done, know this Loki, you are—and will always be—my brother.”

Loki huffed a laugh that held no humor. “And what if I am not? What if, years, months, days from now, you discover I am no son of Odin at all? What then? Who will I be to you then, Thor? Where shall I go, if this castle is no longer my home?” He met Thor’s gaze then, challenging his brother with own. 

“You shall always be mine. What say you to that?”

The corner of Loki’s mouth quirked up despite his best efforts, and he smiled with sincerity. “I say, lead me to the kitchens, brother, for I am weak to your wiles when hungry.”

Thor’s laughter boomed as he leapt up from the bed. His hand was still wrapped around Loki’s wrist, and he used his hold to pull Loki to his feet. “To food, my brother, and while you fill that stomach of yours, I shall tell you all that you missed out on during our hunt. Perhaps I will convince you to join us in a week. The Midsummer feast approaches, and father has invited Vanaheim's Queen Vigdis and her King-Consort.”

**. . .**

The kitchen was empty save for the afternoon cook and the baker’s assistants. A serving boy was half-asleep in the corner, no doubt exhausted after the morning rush, so when the cook made to wake him, Thor waved her off. Leaving Loki to take a seat at the bench, Thor went in search of food. Loki used the brief reprieve from Thor’s attentions to examine his hands, noting that the bandages had been wrapped well. No threads hung loose, and though they were tight enough not to unravel, his fingers were at no risk of losing feeling, not like when Darcy had done it the last time. He looked up when Thor returned, amused at the sheer amount of food on the plates.

“You overestimate the size of my stomach, brother,” Loki said.

“But not that of my own. Volstagg finished what food we took with us the day before yesterday. I think Sif would have gutted him with her sword, but Fandral hid it. My stomach has despaired that it would not be properly filled since, and the smell of meat was too tempting.”

Thor sat close enough that there was no part of them not touching. He seemed not to notice, however, focused as he was on dividing the food between them. He added extra cheese to Loki’s plate, along with another slice of freshly baked bread. Once Loki began to eat, Thor continued his tale.

“We caught a stag on the first night, and came upon a doe and her fawn the next morning. Fandral waxed poetic about the love a mother for her babe, before leading us on. There were no boars to be seen, but yesterday we caught a second stag, and at least twenty hares.”

“And where is this great feast?” Loki asked with a glance around the kitchen. 

“Delivered to the town butchers. I recalled you mentioning we lost nearly fifteen people last year when their meat spoiled during the savage two-week heat. Hogun and Fandral delivered one stag and five hares to lower and middle town each, and the rest to the butcher closest to the castle, Lodur.”

“A fair man. Far more so than Sutherlan Hoderson. He favors a select few and gives only scraps to the others.” He took a bite of one of the fruit pastries, humming his pleasure. “I see you have returned uninjured. A first for you, no doubt.”

“Volstagg is with the physician.” Thor paused for effect, for Loki only arched an eyebrow. “He thought it a good idea to tromp about in the bushes while Fandral was taking aim for a stag. The stag escaped unscathed, but Volstagg was not so lucky.” 

It was wrong to feel such satisfaction at the thought of Volstagg’s idiocy causing him pain, so Loki hid his mirth behind one of the goblets of mulled wine the cook placed before them.

“The injury was not serious I hope?” he asked once he was certain his voice would not give him away.

“He will be sitting on a pillow for the next fortnight, but no, no lasting injury.” Thor cast a disapproving look at Loki’s plate, and said in a chiding tone, “Now eat. If you had time to play until your fingers bled, you have missed too many meals.”

“If only you took your duties as prince as seriously as you have undertaken my health, brother,” Loki murmured. If Thor heard the slight, he showed no sign of it. 

“Come, there is still much on your plate.” Thor reached for one of the grapes and plucked it up, pressing it to Loki’s lips. “If I cannot trust you to eat on your own, Loki, then I shall be forced to feed you myself.”

The words startled Loki into opening his mouth, and Thor slipped the grape inside, his thumb coming to rest against Loki’s bottom lip. The air around them crackled as Loki’s magic began to spark in response to the lingering touch, but neither of them moved. They were caught in some spell not of Loki’s making, and the moment stretched on until the doors to the kitchens opened and the servants tasked with the afternoon serving shift came wandering in.

Thor was slow to move his hand away, his gaze locked on Loki’s mouth. For just a second—a long, interminable second—Loki was certain Thor was going to kiss him. Then he swallowed hard and turned away, leaving Loki with an ache he had sworn not to acknowledge years before. He felt cheated, but there were too many eyes upon them now, and he could not be certain the servants’ whisperings would not reach Odin’s ears.

“So,” he said at last, hoping to ease the tension. “You mentioned another hunt. For the feast?”

“Yes! You must come, Loki. Otherwise,” he said, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “you shall be forced to spend your time here with Queen Vigdis' twin daughters.”

Loki shuddered at the thought. Lovely as the princesses were, they had an unsettling manner about them. It was said, in the great books of old, that Vanaheim was the sister land to Asgard, opposites meant to complete, though distance kept them from joining forces too often. Where Asgard prided herself on her warriors, Vanaheim was most well-known for her scholars, women and men who dedicated their lives to learning and were thought to be the only ones who still held the secrets of the time before the Great Divide. Sometimes, when they thought no one was paying them mind, Loki would spy the twins watching him, their gazes sharp and knowing. He wondered if they knew of his heritage, if that was why they studied him so closely. 

A touch to his knee brought his attention back to Thor and their conversation, and he nodded. “I think perhaps I might. My fingers, at the very least, will not be able to withstand the demands of Queen Vigdis and her people, and without the distraction of music, I would grow bored quickly.”

“And a bored Loki would be an invitation to mischief. It took Jane near to a week just to convince the stable boys the unicorn they saw was not real. And let us not forget the time you turned all the dinner wine into snakes. Mother was furious for days.”

Amusing as the memories were, they only reminded Loki of his differences, of the blood that ran through his veins, but not Thor’s. His appetite ruined, he used his elbow to push away his plate and stood.

“I grow tired, brother. I think I shall retire.”

Thor studied him, concern bright in his eyes. “What happened to you, Loki? All your good humor has been lost.”

“What happened,” Loki snapped, “is that _someone_ did not return in time to take their place during the council meeting, and so it was left to me to fill in. Fa—father’s anger knows no bounds when he finds disappointment in his favored son.” 

He curled his hands into fists, his fingers burning at the pressure placed on his wounds. Loki spun on his heel and used his good hand to jerk open the door. Behind him, Thor rushed to his feet, knocking a chair back, but Loki was faster than his brother. He dashed up the stairs, dodging his way through the servants now cluttering the stairwells and hallways, not stopping until he reached his door. When he made to open it, however, a large hand appeared to his right, and Thor pinned it shut.

“I am sorry that my disobedience caused you to bear the brunt of father’s anger, brother,” Thor said. He was standing too close, pressed up against Loki’s back. Thor dropped his forehead to Loki’s shoulder, his voice muffled, but still audible. “Do not be angry with me, Loki, for you are all that keeps me sane under the pressures of the kingdom. I cannot bear it when you are thus.”

“Then act as the man your father believes you to be. Take your responsibilities more seriously. This is no game, Thor. Fa—Odin has grown old without your noticing. Too soon, he will leave us, and you will be king. If you are not prepared, our kingdom will crumble.”

Lips whispered across the back of Loki’s neck as Thor spoke once more. “I promise you that from this day forward, I will remember my responsibilities.”

Loki shivered, and strove for a teasing tone when he replied, “So say you now, but the next council meeting will take place on the first day of the Midsummer festivities.”

Thor groaned and pushed away. “Of course it is. After that, then. I shall become a responsible man after—”

“Thor,” Loki said, tone warning. “You cannot miss another. I will attend the council meeting with you, if you wish it.”

“Of course you will.” It was less an agreement than an acknowledgement of Loki’s sacrifice. “And then we shall sample the first offerings of mead for the winter.” There was a long pause, followed by a deep sigh as Thor reached out to take hold of Loki’s wrist. “Enough talk. My trip was long and I have missed my bed dearly.”

“So then go it. I am not holding you back.” Something in the air changed, and Loki looked up, meeting Thor’s gaze. “What?”

“You slept in my bed,” Thor said.

In a flash, Loki recalled just what had occurred in Thor’s bed, and horror stilled him. He had no defense, and he awaited Thor’s next words with growing trepidation. 

“You worry too much, brother. I saw your sleep clothes and guessed. Did you think me blind? I have always known when you visit my bed whilst I am away.”

“I—” There was nothing Loki could say, no excuse he could make that would not expose him further.

Thor’s brows knit with concern, and he frowned. “You think me angry,” he stated. “I am not. Whatever complicated thoughts are going through that head of yours, silence them. I know too well the stress you put yourself under.” He reached around Loki, pushing open the door. “For tonight, your bed will do just as well as my own. Come, sleep, and perhaps in the morning you will tell me what you and father argued about.”

Loki hummed in agreement, and some of his apprehension melted away at his brother’s effortless acceptance of him. He preceded Thor into his chambers, bypassing his wardrobe to draw the curtains of his windows together. The rest of the castle’s occupants were already halfway through their day’s chores, and he had a passing thought as to whether anyone would come looking for him. He said as much aloud, and Thor grunted in response.

“There are no meetings today, nor any other such responsibilities. I made known to mother my intent to find you and then sleep for the next day or so. Perhaps if you join us on our next hunting trip, you will find means of muting Volstagg’s snores. It is ever a surprise he does not drive away all prey within hearing distance.”

As he spoke, Thor stripped out of his clothing, leaving on only his linen shirt. Loki followed suit, joining his brother beneath the heavy quilts on his bed. Soon it would be time to unpack the furs and hang the tapestries to preserve themselves against the biting cold of winter. Thor pulled the bed curtains closed, shutting out the last of the light, and they lay down with their heads upon the same pillow, close enough that they touched.

It would be an easy thing, Loki thought, to bring his lips to Thor’s. Easier, even, to feign innocence if questioned. He was debating such an action when Thor’s hand, strong and firm, yet tender and gentle, curved over the back of Loki’s neck. 

“Be still, brother. Your constant need to think is tiresome. Go to sleep.”

Loki opened his mouth to respond, only to find himself yawning instead. Giving up for the time being, he let himself slip into slumber, his breathing evening out to match the slow, steady stroke of Thor’s thumb against his neck. 

For just a moment, Loki allowed himself to believe that all was well.


	4. Chapter 4

Loki had thought it would be harder to find Aakon a second time, but in truth, it required very little active searching on his part. He was venturing into a second tavern when he heard a soft, trilling whistle. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed Aakon hidden in the shadows, the hood of his cloak pulled low over his face. With a tilt of his head, he led Loki away from the tavern and into an alley, body pressed close to the walls of the buildings. There was a moment, as the few remaining street vendors made their last calls for wares, that he questioned the idiocy of following a stranger—an enemy of his people—into a darkened alley in lower town, but he shook off his hesitancy and hastened his steps.

The alley turned out to be a passageway that twisted and turned before opening up in the very bowels of Asgard’s Lower Town. It was a show of great restraint that Loki did not cover his nose at the smell of unwashed bodies and stale piss. He could not help the way his lip curled, and he kept his face downturned, tugging the hood of his cloak up over his head in an effort to shield his identity. The silence between he and Aakon was stretched thin with unease, and their footsteps rang out loudly in the otherwise quiet evening. It was disconcerting, the how barren the streets were when the gazes of many could be felt upon his shoulder.

They stopped at the door of an inn and Aakon swept back his hood as he led Loki inside. There were few patrons in the dinning area, but none so much as looked Loki’s way. _Thieves_ , a voice whispered in the back of his mind. _Murderers, traitors to the crown. This is your ilk, now_. The thought was not as unsavory as Loki would have thought, though he did not consider murderers to be of his sort. There were many titles he would willingly don, but that of murderer was not one of them.

Keeping his eyes downcast, he followed Aakon up the stairs and into a small rented room. The quarters were cramped, suited only for a bed, small table with one chair and a window just large enough for a man to escape through, should he find need to do so. Loki remained standing, one hand resting casually on the knob of the door, waiting.

“You were looking for me,” Aakon said at last.

“Perhaps. You were waiting for me. To what end?”

Aakon’s smile sent a shiver of dislike sliding down Loki’s spine, but his response was bland. “To see if your Highness wished to know more.”

Loki studied the other man, eyes hooded to conceal his own thoughts. It was clear Aakon was unnerved, his gaze darting to and fro about the room which his fingers did an endless dance against his thigh. He knew that even in the bowels of Lower Town, his life was at the mercy of Loki and, should it be deemed so, forfeit.

“Why come to Asgard at all? You risk capture and, should your motives be found less than virtuous, death.”

“The mark was true,” Aakon said in reply. At Loki’s cold stare, he smiled. “I was sent by my king, to discover how his stolen son fared. King Laufey would guarantee you safe passage, should you choose to return to Jotunheim.”

“A bold offer,” Loki said. “You have no promise I am not here to bring you to the castle. For all you know, right now King Odin’s guards are gathering around this inn, preparing to arrest the entire lot of you.”

His words struck home, and he could not help but smirk when Aakon twitched toward the window. 

“A word of caution, enemy of Asgard: do not reveal your hand until you have some proof of kinship. What reason have I to return to your kingdom?”

“This, my lord.” 

From within the folds of his cloak, he produced a small book. It was leather-bound and the tattered pages made obvious its old age. Loki turned it over in his hands, fingers tracing the archaic lettering of the title. It was an old language, one that predated the great divide of land, when all the kingdoms were ruled under one Emperor. Though not a required study, Loki had taken it upon himself to learn it, locking himself away for hours, pouring over the few primers he could scavenge from the library. Odin had claimed Loki was wasting his time and Thor had teased—though with good nature—, but Frigga had shown great interest in her son’s latest pursuit. 

He flipped through the pages, skimming the contents. Much of it was concerned with relics of ancient times, some magical and some not, that had been divided between the councilmen’s holdings. There was little in the way of history dating back that far in the palace library, and even less in the book, but from he could understand, each member of the Emperor’s council had been a lord, a man of great wealth and power one. 

“I should like to take this back with me, for further study.”

Aakon bowed his head. “Of course my lord. My son has already begun the journey home with our cart, but I shall remain here for another three days. You know the way, should you wish to speak with me.”

He closed the book with gentle hands, then hid it away. “I do. Though I am not yet decided on your motives, know that I will return in one day. Should I doubt your word, I will give that same time to leave our lands before I set my fa—the King’s guards on your trail.”

“I would expect no less, your Highness.”

There were no parting words as Loki slipped from the room. He kept his face hidden on his exit, dodging the searching gaze of a newly arrived gentleman. It was a struggle not to run, to keep his stride slow and inconspicuous, but he dared not risk detection. Odin held great contempt for this part of his palace city and to find Loki here after hours, sneaking about like the ruffians who dwelled here, would only make his ire with his wayward son all the greater.

**. . .**

Only when he was safely within his chambers did Loki withdraw the book. At his initial glance through the book, he had noted there were a few words with which he was not familiar. For those, he hunted down the thick volume dedicated to breaking down and understanding their land’s first language. He took a seat at his table, two pots of ink at his right, several quills and a stack of clean parchment within reach. Sliding the first sheet toward him, Loki opened the book and skimmed the first several pages, bypassing the less interesting passages for the one that had caught his eye back at the inn. It was a description not of an artifact, but of a prophecy.

What would have been a tedious task for any other was almost… _thrilling_ for Loki. The taste of a new language upon his tongue was much like the sound of a newly formed song. 

With each sentence transcribed, he could feel himself draw closer to some unnamed—unknown though not unfelt—understanding of who he was. Loki felt as thought there was some true meaning to his life, but as he neared the end of the passage, the joy that had been slowly unfurling within him died, and a chill swept through him. He stopped writing, gaze locked on the last transcribed sentence.

“ _Barnit skal hreinsa galdra ok lækna ríkit_.” He said the words aloud, voice a bare whisper though there was no one to overhear him, and as they took form, what little hope he had held shattered into a thousand shards of betrayal and hurt. 

The child shall cleanse the magic and heal the land.

Loki slammed the book shut and shoved it away from him. He wanted to shout, wanted to rage against the injustice of the fate dealt to him, but there was nothing left inside him when he opened his mouth. No words, no sounds of discontent. There was only the inaudible sound of his heart breaking. The proof of his existence was in the book before him. Loki, false son of Odin, stolen heir of King Laufey, was not a person. He was thing, a means to an end be it at the hands of the Jötunns and the Asgardians.

It did not require much effort to turn his pain into anger, to replace the hurt with calculated contempt. He had his answers and they were not what he would have liked, true, but he was not content to let it end there. Whilst Odin continued to live under the misconception that Loki was still a pawn in his game of power, Loki would have his recompense. He would drive holes into his false-father’s control, shake the very foundations of Asgard and bring to ruin the name of Odin Allfather. What little guilt he felt at the knowledge of the hurt he would bring to both Frigga, his false-mother, and Thor, who was more Loki’s heart than any other, paled in comparison to his own pain. 

A sense of calm settled over Loki after that, and he drew the book toward him once more, opening it up to another random page. He skimmed the details, hummed to himself, then flipped to another section. Over the course of the next hour, Loki alternated between reading the archaic language and taking notes. Twice he crossed off something he had written down, but by the time he closed the book for the last time, he had a short list of magical items to look for. 

He had dismissed the idea of going after any of the more powerful artifacts without hesitation. While bring Odin to his knees had a certain appeal, Loki refused to put at risk an entire country. Loki’s pride was not worth the sacrifice of the lives of Asgard’s people, and he kept that in mind as he made his plans. A glance around his room told Loki that there were few options for hiding the book. The simple furnishings that had suited him well enough before seemed barren right then, useless. More than that, however, was the fact that Odin could enter at will and search the room, a risk that was double now that certain revelations had been made.

Thor’s room was Loki’s best bet, not only because it was in close proximity, but because he could trust that Thor would not find the book either. It would be safe there until such time as that Loki could return it to its previous owner. And he would only do _that_ once he had copied down the entire passage concerning himself. To tear the pages from the book would only draw unwanted attention from the Jötunns, and Loki had no desire have their cold, calculating eyes upon him. It was enough to bear the weight of Aakon’s unwavering gaze whenever they were together.

With the book tucked into the back of his trousers, Loki made his way over to Thor’s room. The guards in the hall were careful to keep their gazes averted, but Loki knew they would report his trespass, accepted as it may be, should Odin enquire. To that end, Loki continued down the hall until he rounded the corner. There were no guards there, and he took a moment to just breathe, finding his center. The spell he wished to use was one of the easier ones he had taught himself, but it was also one of the weakest. It would hold only as long as his copy was not physically disturbed.

Loki closed his eyes, pulling a tendril of magic away from his center and spinning it out into the air beside him. When he blinked his eyes open, there was an exact copy of himself standing there, a knowing smirk curling one side of his mouth up. Blanketing himself with another spell, Loki set the copy in motion, following behind at a discreet distance as it headed back in the direction of his rooms. At the opposite end of the hall, the copy tripped and sent a suit of armor tumbling to the ground. 

Both guards startled, and Loki used the cover of the his copy kicking the helmet across the stone floor to slip into Thor’s room. The copy would disappear soon enough, giving away his trickery, but the guards knew better than to search Thor’s rooms without their king or prince present. There would be no leaving, not until the guards’ shift came to an end, but that was fine by Loki. He was in no great rush. The two spells had left him more than a little tired, and after he was successful in hiding away his book, he stretched out on Thor’s bed for a nap.

**. . .**

Loki woke with a jolt, moving from a deep sleep into alertness. He was surprised to find that it was dark outside, and his head ached as he sat up. Thor had yet to return to his room, and Loki had half a mind to leave right then, but could not muster the strength to do more than swing his legs over the edge of the bed. He spared a moment to wonder if he was coming down with a summer flu before the door to Thor’s room opened and his brother came sweeping in. Loki winced at the too-bright light from the torches in the hallway, and the movement of his arm coming up to cover his eyes drew Thor’s attention to him.

“What on earth are you doing here, brother?” Thor asked. He sounded curious, though not surprised, and Loki was ashamed to realize that in the past month alone he had slept in Thor’s bed no less than twenty times. 

“I came to speak with you,” Loki said at last. “I had meant to wait for your return, but then I lay down...” He shrugged and dropped his arm back down, but closed his eyes.

The bed dipped beside him, and Thor pressed a cool hand to his forehead. “Are you unwell?”

“Perhaps? I do not know. I think I skipped lunch. That, paired with spell-casting, has left me—”

“Drained,” Thor finished. “You are a fool to do such to yourself, Loki.” He moved closer, and with a gentleness that never ceased to surprise Loki, eased them both down onto the mattress. “You have missed dinner as well. It was an enjoyable affair, all things considered, though I doubt you would agree. Ladies Jane, Darcy and Sif took their meal with me, Fandral, Volstagg and Hogun in the garden. Mother and Father retired to their rooms.”

“So it was not that I missed the meal, but that I was not missed all together.”

Thor let out a soft, unhappy sound and pulled Loki closer. “Untrue. I sent a page to find you, but your rooms were empty and as no one saw you enter mine, they went unsearched until now. I assumed you were locked away in the library and intended to come find you after I changed out of my council clothing.”

“Mmm.” 

Loki knew he should move, take himself back to his own rooms, but the draw of being so close to Thor proved too much. With a sigh, he let the last of the tension holding his shoulders taut release. It was an indulgence, yes, but one for which he would not be faulted. He was not the only one who favored their physical closeness, though he did not dwell on the reason why.

After a time, Thor began to shift beneath him, uncomfortable in the formal clothing he was still wearing. While his brother moved to change, Loki went to the door and summoned the young page waiting dutifully across the way.

“Food, Your Highness?” the boy enquired. 

He did not wait for Loki to reply, taking off in the direction of the kitchens at a run. Loki wondered what his life had come to that a child was more aware of his needs than even he was. He had not thought out his reason for opening the door, only knew that he could not stand to watch his brother disrobe without being able to touch.

As though summoned by the thought, Thor appeared at Loki’s side, his hand gentle yet firm as he guided Loki away from the door and back over to the bed. When Loki opened his mouth to object, Thor smiled at him, fond and sad. 

“I do not know what it is that drives you to wear yourself so thin with your magic, but you been almost all day without food. I will risk crumbs in the bed if it means you are resting comfortably.”

Loki narrowed his eyes at Thor, his lips pressed together in a thin, tight line. “Are you implying that I am weak? Delicate?”

“I am implying that I worry after your health. If you are going to practice magic, you should eat first. Build up your strength.”

Loki did not have the heart to point out that even when he did so, an hour of spell casting was enough to leave him feeling dizzy and tired. He did not think Thor would take kindly to the news, and Loki had no desire to argue his choice to practice magic despite the toll it took on him. Instead, he allowed Thor to tug at the light jacket he wore, peeling it away. And when the food arrived, he did not stop Thor from pressing bread and cheese to his lips, though he was far from needing to be hand-fed.

It was sometime between Thor stretching out beside him, humming off-key under his breath, and Loki’s body relaxing into the warmth provided, that he found himself thinking of the mark upon his shoulder, and the truth born from it. He wondered what Thor would say if Loki told him they were no longer brothers, that the blood running through their veins was not shared. He had half a mind to say as much, but then Thor was offering him a piece of candied of meat, and Loki let the idea fall away.

He was not aware of falling asleep, but the next thing Loki knew, it was full dark outside and Thor was snuffling softly in his ear. His bladder ached from being too full, and it was with great regret that he pulled himself free. The stone floor was cold beneath Loki’s feet, and he cursed as he made his way over to where Thor kept his chamber pot hidden. Upon his return, he let a tendril of magic urge the red embers in the hearth into a fire that warmed the room.

Thor grumbled as Loki crawled back into the bed, and though he did not wake, he shifted just enough for Loki to press in against his side once more. And that, Loki knew, spoke louder than any other actions or words, that Thor anticipated Loki’s closeness, even in his sleep. It was one thing to acknowledge just how much time they spent in each other’s company and something else all together to admit that, as of late, they shared a bed more often than not, and not in the same way Thor used to share a bed with his friends. No, this was something they had to be careful about, protect from the sharp eyes of their father.

For just a second, Loki felt _guilty_. He knew that what he planned to do would hurt his brother, that Thor would suffer just as much from Loki’s betrayal as their father would. He wondered if his decision to seduce his brother would soften the blow or fuel Thor’s rage when Loki’s schemes were exposed. Perhaps, if Loki had been more forgiving of Odin’s lies, more inclined toward Thor’s generous, kind nature, he would say something now, but the need to hurt, the desire for reparation, was stronger than a moment of doubt.

It had to be. It was all Loki had anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

The city was alive, the hum of conversations creating a low hum in the air that soothed the itch under Loki’s skin. The feasts had begun earlier that morning, continuing until the following evening, and Loki found it impossible to maintain his usual cool distance in the face of such merriment, and as they moved deeper within the city, he began to relax for the first time in a while. At his side, Thor pressed in close, his fingers finding purchase on Loki’s wrist as he leaned in to speak.

“The merchant at the end of the road is selling colored strips of cloth. Do you think Jane and Darcy would like them?”

Loki’s lip curled at the mention of Lady Jane, but he could not hold the mood for longer than a moment. A child with flowers in her hair darted past, and Loki sighed.

“Mother as well. Their maids can braid the strips into their hair before the feast begins.”

“Good!”

Thor’s grip tightened as he tugged Loki along, the press of bodies they had to fight their way through near enough to dislodge him still. Even when they reached the cart, he refused to loose his hold. From just behind them, Volstagg and Hogun were discussing the meat pies for sale two stalls over, oblivious to the way in which Thor clung to Loki all morning.

When Thor paid, they moved on, leaving the other two to make their own way through the crowded streets. He could feel it in the fingers still clutching at him, the rapid pulse of Thor’s blood, the heavy beat of his heart as they pushed their way past early revelers. Soon, Loki told himself, soon he would make his move. Thor was weak to his wants on the best of days, and though it would no doubt require some convincing, he would cave to Loki’s desire here as well.

They were not, after all, brothers in blood, though only Loki was aware of such a fact.

A part of him ached at the thought, at the reminder that in this life, he had no one of his own. No family to fall back upon when the tangle of lies he continued to weave inevitably came undone. No one, save Thor, and there was no guarantee that _that_ would last, not once Loki’s true heritage was revealed. Of all the kingdoms in the land, Jotunheim was Asgard’s greatest enemy, and it would not matter that Odin was the reason Loki had come to be raised among them, only that the blood flowing in his veins was not shared between them.

Loki was pulled from his thoughts when a sudden jerk of his arm had him stumbling into the shade of an alley, and he went stiff and still as Thor crowded him against a dirty wall. The hands at his shoulders were firm, their grip as much to hold him in place as to steady him.

“You have not heard a single word I have said, brother. What ails you?”

“Ails me?” Loki tilted his head back to meet Thor’s gaze.

“Your frown,” Thor said, raising a hand to cup Loki’s cheek, his thumb brushing along the swell of Loki’s bottom lip. “I have not seen such an expression upon your face since we were boys and Volstagg broke the wolf carving you carried with you everywhere.”

Cheeks heating at the reminder, Loki scowled and turned away. “I was thinking, nothing I expect you would understand.”

“Such cruelty, brother.” Thor laughed as he spoke, his face so close that if Loki were to turn his head, their lips would meet.

“We will be missed if we tarry too long.”

Thor groaned and pushed away from the wall. “I would say ‘let them miss us,’ but father will be furious if we do not return soon. Come, then. I have one last stall to visit and then we shall head back to the castle.”

As they made their way back out onto the crowded street, Loki thought to ask, “And what of your friends?”

“They know well enough that I am bound by Father’s will. They will return when they are ready. I will be glad when this council meeting is over so that we can return.”

“The feast—”

“Is not until later. You worry too much, brother. I look forward to when you are full with mead and no longer so serious. Your smiles are rare, and it would please me to see them more often.”

When they reached the part of the city where a majority of the merchants were located, more of the citizens began to take note of them. A woman with hair plaited and pulled up, greeted them with a broad smile, pressing a small sample of her honeyed bread into Loki’s hands. Another offered Thor a basket of fruits, her eyes going wide when he thanked her with a kiss to her hand and twice the coin warranted. Loki did likewise, the heavy purse at his hip growing lighter as they made their way back to the castle. If Loki was more generous with his payments than was his usual, he did not dwell on the reasoning for very long. He knew his sins well, and felt the measure of them hourly.

By the time they broke free of the city’s inhabitants, their arms were heavy with the gifts of their people. Thor was in the lead, and he called out a warning for aid as they stumbled up the steps. Hands reached out, plucking up baskets until Loki was once more free. The food would be delivered to the kitchens, while any finery would be placed in his and his brother’s rooms.

It would have been nice to follow suit, but they had dallied too long in the city and were late. An attendant stepped forward as Loki straightened his coat, his face severe.

“Your Highness, Prince Loki and Your Royal Highness, Prince Thor,” he said in greeting, his words clipped. “King Odin and the council await you.” He bowed, moving aside as they passed, then fell into step behind them.

Loki did not like having the man at his back, but when he turned to say as much, Thor took hold of his arm and dragged him closer.

“Hold your tongue, brother. He is only the messenger.”

“As are most of the servants, he is ever the eyes of our father, Thor. It would serve you well to remember that and unhand me at once.”

Thor smiled, turning his head just enough to show one blue eye, bright with mirth, the corner of his mouth curling up like a secret. If he heard any of what Loki had said, he did not show it, pulling Loki closer to loop an arm about his shoulders.

The doors to the council room were opened upon their approach, the guards careful to keep their gazes averted. Only then did Thor release him, dropping his arm down and smoothing a hand over the front of his shirt.

“Ah, I see my son and heir has arrived.” Odin stood the near the door, a smile just beginning to form. At the sight of Loki half a step behind his brother, Odin faltered in his greeting, his smile slipping away. “Loki,” Odin said, his expression going tight. “I should think you had better things to do than sit in on meetings.”

The words were not meant with kindness, and even Thor seemed to sense the hostility clouding in the air. He moved back a step, aligning himself with Loki, and said,

“He is here at my request, father. His notes are far more legible than my own and his insight invaluable.”

“Thor—” Odin began, but was quieted a moment later by the press of Frigga’s hand to his elbow.

“Husband,” Frigga said, her voice a low murmur that could be overheard by only the four of them. “It should be the duty of _both_ our sons to attend the council meetings. Quarrel no more for the day is young still and I would desire your company for the festivities.”

With those final words, she pressed a kiss first to Odin’s cheek, then Loki’s and at last, Thor’s. The doors were closed behind her, and Odin turned away, leaving his sons to find their seats. Once situated, Loki dropped his hands to his lap, fingers curled tight in a fist that eased only when one of Thor’s hands covered his own.

They remained that way for the next two hours.

**. . .**

On the occasion of celebrations such as the Midsummer festival, it was common practice for the members of the royal house to dress down on the first night, even the king. On the second, true, night of Midsummer, those of the court would celebrate together, dressed up in their warmest summer finery, but for now, Loki and Thor were allowed to set aside their responsibilities as they prepared to take to the city once more.

Loki was just pulling on his boots when Thor let himself into his rooms, taking a seat on the end of Loki’s bed and dropping a bag at his feet. His hair was still damp from his bath, the scent of rosemary and sage still clinging to his skin.

“Will you bring your violin?” Thor asked.

“If you so wish it.” Loki straightened, tugging at the sleeves of his shirt. His own hair had been slicked back and spelled dry. He smoothed a hand over it, then reached for his belt, only to have his hand stayed by Thor.

Frowning, Thor reached out and ran his fingers through Loki’s hair, leaving it in a state of disarray. “We are to be having fun, brother,” Thor said. “And if you are against playing—”

Loki batted away the hands still undoing the last hour’s work, his tone waspish as he replied. “Unhand me, you brute. And I am not against playing, I simply had not thought to bring my instrument until you spoke of it.”

It was a losing battle, his attempt to duck away from Thor’s hands, and after another moment, Loki sighed. His hair was disheveled, the laces holding the front of his shirt together loosened to a disreputable degree. He had to bite his lip against the sound building low in his throat as Thor’s fingers brushed over his collar, and the moment he was released, he turned away.

“Are you ready, then?” Loki asked as he packed away his violin and bow. When he looked up again, Thor was watching him, expression unreadable, gaze dark. _Soon_ , Loki thought.

Thor grinned then, and moved back to the door. On the other side stood a servant bearing a large pitcher. “You are ever serious, brother,” Thor said as he sent the servant on his way. “I thought to loosen your mood and perhaps your wits with some of father’s favored mead first.”

He poured a generous amount in Loki’s goblet before filling a second. Loki narrowed his eyes at the slur against his character, but accepted the drink nonetheless.

Half an hour later, with his blood warmed by the mead, they snuck from the castle with exaggerated stealth, their steps graceless as they hid behind pillars and tiptoed through the shadows. When they reached the main doors, they broke into a run, startling a handful of maids and the steward. They ran until they reached the gates leading into the castle’s city, then slowed to a walk less because that was what decorum dictated under circumstances, and more to give themselves the leisure of taking in the city in the midst of a celebration.

A group of children ran by, the youngest ones stopping to bow and curtsey at their poorly disguised princes. Across the way, a girl wearing a circlet of flowers clung to her mother’s skirt, and Loki watched with amusement as she flirted with Thor, her mother blushing as she accepted a flower in her daughter’s stead. Then they continued on their way, stopping to breathe in the scent of fresh baked bread and pies of cheese and meat.

“Well,” Thor said. He peered down the streets, looking as overwhelmed as Loki felt. Though every year was the much the same, it was still a lot to take in. “So, where shall we begin?” he asked at last.

Loki scanned the building faces. It was a hard choice, but after a moment, he nodded toward a tavern further down the way. There was no one outside and the decorations were sparse, but he suspected that had more to do with owner’s lack of coin. While the year had been better than the last few, there were many still suffering from the decline in the common weal.

“That one.”

“There is no one there!” Thor shook his head. “I know you have little love for crowds, brother, but this is a time for _celebrating_ , not hiding away.”

Loki sighed, praying the gods for patience as he stared his brother full in the face. “There is no crowd now, no, but look around you, Thor. Our people watch to see where we will go. Choose an inn or tavern with little income and you will draw new patronage.”

It was almost embarrassing, the look of sudden understanding that had Thor’s mouth opening in a broad grin.

“Ah,” Thor said, but Loki could see true understanding had yet to come to him.

It came mere minutes after they took a seat at one of the long tables in the back of the room. Loki was bent over the task of tuning his violin when the first group of patrons entered, and when he glanced up, it was to see Thor’s eyes brightening.

“And that is why we have come here,” Loki said. It was hardly more than a whisper, but Thor heard him.

“Our presence will draw coin for the owners.”

“Yes.”

They both turned to watch as the men and women found chairs and benches to sit upon. There were a fair number of children in the crowd, and they watched with wide eyes as Thor stood. Loki returned his attention to his instrument as Thor began to move around the room, greeting each patron in turn.

This was Thor at his best. Hands strong and sure as they clasped those of his people, his smile wide and beaming as he bent to accept a hug from the braver children. Into the hands of the adults he pressed coins, sometimes paired with beads of glass or stone. For the children, he presented small figures made of wood: fish, sheep, seals and others. There were several pouches worth of such trinkets, carved not only by Thor, but by his men as well, meant for this very occasion. Loki had no such skill with wood, but infused into each carving was just enough magic to keep it from wearing down for years to come.

“Your Highness.” The interruption came from their hostess, an older woman whose hands bore the scars of someone who worked far harder than Loki ever had. Her smile was kind as she pressed a tankard of mead into his hand. “It is not much, Your Highness, but it is the best we have to offer.”

The mead was bland, watered down to make enough for the unusual number of people at her tables, but Loki smiled nonetheless and thanked her.

“And for your brother as well. I have only one cook—”

“Drink is enough,” Loki said. “We ate our fill earlier.” He nodded toward the growing crowd. “We were blessed with many gifts from our people.” Before she left, Loki pressed three coins to her palm, closing her fingers over them and holding up a hand when she would have protested.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

Loki picked four pieces to play, gentle music that would encourage people to sit and listen, to fill their bellies with food and drink. He played until Thor appeared at his side once more.

“There is a man with a drum willing to take your place. Shall we find another tavern, brother, or are you comfortable here?”

A glance at the crowd told Loki enough. Those here would probably remain, even after Loki and Thor had taken their leave. At some point, the baker across the way had arrived with fresh rolls, and cheese had been brought out on trays for the people. Their hostess’ face was flushed with surprised pleasure, and aid was being given by the older children in filling clay goblets and making sure there was food to go around.

“Now is a good time to move on.”

They repeated their tactic thrice over, moving through the lower levels of the city, where coin was scarce if seen at all. Just as Loki was beginning to feel the ache in his fingers, a palace servant found them.

“Your Royal Highness,” he said, bowing. “Prince Loki.”

“Ah, you have arrived just in time.” Thor relieved Loki of his violin case, pressing it into the hands of the servant. “You can leave it in my rooms.”

“What—”

Thor hushed Loki’s protest, sending the servant on his way. “The night is ours to enjoy, now. Let another make music so we can dance.”

The largest portion of their night had taken place in the upper part of the city. With dark just beginning to fall, they moved further into lower town, following the sound of laughter. The revelers here were looser in nature and in morals, the songs they sang crude. Loki hesitated in the doorway of the tavern, eyes scanning the crowd for Aakon’s face. When he did not see it, he moved all the way into the main room, allowing their host to direct them to a table in the back.

“Only the best for our princes,” the host said, offering up two large pitchers of mead. The host winked as he ducked away, and when Thor took the first sip, his brows drew together.

“This is no plain fare. It could rival even our very best.”

Loki grinned and leaned in to whisper, “Very like it is true. We are amongst thieves here, brother.” When Thor made to stand, Loki grabbed hold of his arm, his fingers digging into Thor’s wrist. “This is not the time for your morals, brother. Let them have their celebration.”

“They take advantage,” Thor argued, but he sat back down.

“They show trust,” Loki said, countering his brother’s words. “On any day save this one, your mead would be weak, the bread days old. This is how they show honor to their prince.”

Thor took another sip, eyes traveling the sea of faces surrounding them, then settled on Loki’s. “It is how they honor their _princes_. Not just me, brother, but you as well.” He tilted his head to the side. “Perhaps you more so than me,” Thor added after a moment.

Food arrived then, and Loki, grateful for the reprieve from being under Thor’s studious gaze, thanked their host with a small nod and generous coin. The platters set before them held generous servings of cheese alongside steaming stew served in bowls of bread. Loki broke one of the rolls into four parts, dipping one of the pieces into the stew. The flavor was good, not as good as the palace fare, but better than one would expect from an establishment such as this. Thor seemed to be in agreement, for his spoon moved quickly through his food and in only a matter of moments, all was gone. Done, he leaned back to rest against the wall. Loki finished what he could, then pushed the rest toward his brother.

“You ate not even half,” Thor said, frowning.

“I ate what I could. Not all of us walk with a hollow leg that needs filling like yours, brother.”

The insult rolled past Thor. “I eat for strength. You should do the same.”

It was an old argument, and Loki shook his head. “I am no warrior, brother.”

“No, but your magic leaves you drained. If you ate more—” He let the argument end there, aware that there would be no winning in this. His gaze moved back to the people surrounding them, but his brow remained furrowed.

The sound of tables and benches being pushed across the floor dragged Loki’s attention away from Thor’s face, and he watched as the tables were pushed all the way to the back walls and the benches were arranged to form a ragged circle. A space was cleared at one end, and three wooden stools produced, upon which sat the night’s entertainment. A man with pipes, one with a drum, and one, Loki assumed, to sing.

As the entertainers began to play, the women who used the rooms upstairs for their business moved through the crowd. There were a few young men in the group, their smiles gentle but their gazes sharp. Loki could see the moment Thor recognized them for what they were, his whole body tensing and his grip on the tankard beside him going white-knuckled. Then he relaxed, tossing back the last of his drink before he allowed one of the women to pull him to his feet.

The level of noise rose, and Loki found himself so overwhelmed by the goings on that he failed to notice he was no longer alone at the table. When he turned, it was to find one of the younger upstairs lads sitting far too close for anything resembling casual conversation. His eyes were dark, his skin the color of damp clay and soil mixed together. There was no doubt the boy was no native of Asgard. Loki could sense the magic within him, thin and banked. ‘ _Of Muspelheim decent, then_ ,’ Loki thought to himself. He had half a mind to send the boy away, but just as he opened his mouth, he caught sight of Thor across the room, watching.

Setting aside the rest of his drink, Loki fixed his full attention on the boy. He leaned in close, lips just brushing the boy’s ear and whispered, “An entire evening’s earnings for an hour of your time.”

The boy drew back, dark eyes alight. “And what would your highness have me do?”

Loki’s eyes went half-lidded, darting over to glance at where Thor still stood, and the boy, too smart for his own good, followed his gaze. He smiled and moved closer.

“The name is Kol.” He pressed the word into Loki’s skin with his lips and tongue, then withdrew once more. “Did you want to go somewhere else?” Kol asked, darting a glance toward the stairs.

“Here will do just as well,” Loki said.

He reached for Kol then, shifting in his seat so that he could straddle the bench and draw Kol into the vee of his thighs. He ignored the on-goings of the others, the bawdy laughter, the poorly crafted music. His hands wandered, slipping beneath Kol’s shirt, and Loki hid his grimace when Kol initiated a kiss that was too wet and too sloppy for Loki’s liking. Across the room, Thor continued to watch them, his attention only half on the heavily breasted woman seated on his lap.

Loki waited until it looked as though Thor was going to snap before pulling away from the tangle of Kol’s limbs. He caught the smirk Kol flashed his way, and returned it with a narrowed gaze and the promised coin. He stood and straightened his clothing, then took a moment to polish off the last of his drink. Thor was almost upon him by the time Loki reached the door, and when their gazes met, Loki knew that the time to make his move was close. Perhaps even that very night, though if not, Loki would do his best to lay the foundation for promise of occurrence on the following eve. Perhaps not that night, though Loki would do his best to lay the foundation if nothing else, but the next for certain.

With a tip of his head, Loki said, “Shall we?” and was rewarded with a glower from his brother.

It was Thor who chose their last destination, a pub in middle town overflowing with laughter. A troupe of players were there, and Loki learned they were staying at the inn across the way, sharing freely their coin between the two places. It was as he took a seat on one of the low benches that the idea struck him. At the front of the room, four men sang and danced, two of whom dressed in women’s clothing. One of the players caught Loki’s eye and as they ended their song, made his way to Loki’s table.

“Such a fine face you have,” the man said by way of greeting. “I should think it would be even more lovely painted.” He fluttered his eyelashes at Loki, and, when Thor looked up at him startled, added a wink. “Handsome as your companion is, he lacks your prettiness.”

“Your flattery is noted.” Loki spoke in a wry tone, but the glance he cut toward the other man was full of wile. “Though his Royal Highness Prince Thor is not so amused. He is ever used to being the recipient of people’s attention, and I should hate to see his feelings hurt.”

“Ah. Your brother, you say? Then that would make you Prince Loki. It is a pleasure.” The last was said in a breathless whisper that had the man’s voice almost as soft as that of a woman. “How rude of me, to intrude without introducing myself. My name is Fasolt, though when I am on stage, I am called Fasolt.” He winked at Thor once more, then shifted his gaze back to Loki.

“And how fare our princes on this night?”

“Well enough,” Loki conceded. He cast a glance at Thor and seeing his attention diverted, leaned in to say, “I should like to take you up on your offer, if you spoke in seriousness.”

“My offer?” Fasolt looked confused for only a moment. A wide smile broke over his face, and he pushed away from the table. Addressing the room at large, he said, “It is time, now, for us to share with you the next piece of entertainment. For that, we would have a volunteer and your prince has just given his consent.” He held out a hand to Loki, who allowed himself to be drawn to his feet. “We require only a few minutes to prepare, so if you would turn your attention to our masterful musician...”

The rest of the players appeared, encircling Loki and Fasolt as they made their way toward the door. He glanced back in time to see Thor rise from his seat, but a shake of Loki’s head had him sitting again. Then they were exiting the pub, walking the short distance to the inn. Fasolt led Loki up the stairs, the others following close behind, and when they reached his room, he stepped aside to wave Loki in first.

It was a dangerous move, to enter without a guard or someone to ensure there was no threat lying in wait for him, but Loki’s trust was not in vain. The room was an explosion of clothing, and he navigated the clutter to one of the chairs, dropping down with a sigh. Hs eyes drifted shut only until hands came to rest upon his shoulders. Just like that, Loki was once more alert, and he met Fasolt’s gaze in the mirror standing in front of them.

“I would ask what trouble it is you should like to stir, but I am no fool. I can see in your eyes your intentions.” Fasolt paused, his head tilted to the side as he studied Loki in the mirror. “Unless you have a particular idea in mind, I should like to try something.”

With a slight curl of his lip, Loki inclined his head and said, “Do your worst.”

It took Fasolt near an hour in all to complete Loki’s costuming, and when he was done, his expression was one of smug victory. He was good, that much was obvious. He had not so much concealed Loki’s features as he had enhanced them, making the pale blue-green of Loki’s eyes more vivid, his lips fuller and more lush in color. Dark kohl lined his eyes, and Fasolt had dusted his lashes with something to darken them, the contrast against his pale skin startling. The wig Fasolt had chosen for him was in the same shade as his own hair, and it fell in a straight, heavy curtain that rippled when he turned his head.

Fasolt’s face appeared beside his own in the looking glass, his gaze too knowing. “You will be our main attraction tonight, I think. And now,” he continued, straightening up, “for your costume.”

He held out his hand, and Loki watched as layer upon layer of fabric was laid over Fasolt’s arm. Shifting his gaze back to his own reflection, he allowed a smirk to finally settle over his features. It ruined the seductive effect, but there was no Thor present to impress. Loki stood with a grace borne from years of practice and allowed himself to be stripped, moving only when necessary. The rest of the troupe had taken to their own chests, donning clothing to rival his own and taking turns painting one another’s faces. Now they stood ready, mischief in every eye and smile. Loki looked into the mirror a final time, and he knew that _this_ would be all he needed to tip the scale in his favor.

Their return to the pub took longer as Loki learned to navigate the stairs in heels. At the door, Fasolt pressed something into his hand.

“A gift from the Empress herself,” he said. “You should open it now so you do not—”

He stopped speaking and his eyebrows rose as Loki flicked his wrist, the fan opening with an audible snap. “I am well acquainted with such things, I assure you,” Loki said at last. “I have made it my business to know everything I can, regardless of how unsuitable it may seem at the time.”

“Of course,” Fasolt murmured.

The troupe broke into two groups then, those dressed in male finery to one side, female to the other. It was an even split ending with an older man, the announcer, whose costume was divided to show both halves; a skirt and blouse covering his right half, a trouser leg and a man’s tunic on the left, sewn together by a professional hand.

“Ladies,” the announcer said, bowing to once, “and _miscreants_ , I bring to you some of the land’s greatest players.” He waved an arm to encompass the group. With a sly smile to the audience, he added, “and a guest, though I shall leave it to up to you to decide which of our players has only temporarily joined our ranks. And now, my fellow revelers, let the music…begin.”

On the last word, he dropped his voice into a low whisper that had the hair along Loki’s nape standing on end. Across the way, Thor was studying each face in turn, though he looked only at the men’s side of the room. Loki laughed soft and breathless from behind the security of his fan as Thor’s gaze moved past Loki without a second glance. Across from him, Fasolt grinned.

When the music began, the players moved together, pairing off. By unspoken agreement, Fasolt was left to escort Loki across the dance floor, his steps unhurried. It wasn’t difficult, though the ground was somewhat uneven. The hand that settled at Loki’s waist was careless, unimposing and light. His smile was mischievous.

“Your brother has yet to figure out our duplicity,” he remarked.

“My brother,” Loki said, “is not as observant as you would give him credit for being.”

There was an edge to Fasolt’s tone when he replied, chiding, though not unkind. “And neither are you. He is not a man who requires deception in order to be seduced, only the appropriate circumstance.”

“And is this not just that?”

“Oh, it is circumstance, yes, but it is also a lie. Would you have him remain unknowledgeable of whom you are when he shares your bed?”

Loki’s face heated at the blunt words, but he answered nonetheless. “Of course not. Not only would it be impossible to keep such a secret, but to maintain the charade to that point would defeat the very purpose of seducing him.” He did not add that he hoped Thor to be far too into his cups to notice just who he was bedding until too late. It galled Loki that someone unknown to him should be able to read his intentions so clearly.

“So you would think, my prince,” Fasolt said. “It is not as hard as you would think to lie with one’s body as well as their mouth. I have lain with several men under the guise of being a woman. If they are willing to believe a falsehood, they will ignore all evidence to the contrary. You could take your brother to bed, seduce him, and leave while he sleeps, and he would be none the wiser.”

“That is not what I wish,” Loki said at last.

Fasolt nodded, a smile curving his lips up. “That is good, Prince Loki, for it would seem your brother has just undergone a rather life-changing revelation.” He nodded with his chin, and Loki glanced over his shoulder to see Thor watching them, eyes wide with surprise and just a hint of pink fanning across his cheeks. Then his gaze dropped to where Fasolt was gripping Loki’s waist, and just like that, his whole face darkened. Fasolt spun them around, drawing Loki close into the shelter of his body, his lips a breath away from Loki’s ear. “And now, Prince Loki, I believe it time for me to take my leave.”

He was gone before Loki could form a reply, slipping off to select a woman from the audience. In the next moment, Thor was there, his fingers scorching hot where they wrapped about Loki’s wrist.

“You—” Thor paused, brow drawn down in a studious frown as he took in the kohl lining Loki’s eyes and the soot darkening his lashes. “What are you playing at, Loki.”

“Who said I am playing at anything, brother? It is Midsummer and I wished to do something different. I understand if it is not to your liking,” he added, when Thor’s expression moved into a scowl. “You are not required to remain in my company if seeing me thus makes you uncomfortable.”

Thor shook his head. “You are a fool if you think I would leave you alone. There is not an eye in the room turned away from you.”

“Dance with me?”

The request was simple enough, and Loki told himself he would not be offended if Thor declined. He was pleasantly surprised when instead of doing so, Thor consented with a sharp nod. From the downturn of his mouth, though, Loki could only surmise that Thor was humoring him, and just like that, he felt like a fool.

“Never mind. Return to your seat, Thor. Give me a moment to remove the face paints and then we can return to the castle.”

Thor’s features softened then, the lines on his forehead smoothing away. “It would be a shame to do so, brother. Though I doubt you are in need of any more flattery, this is not an unappealing look for you.” He reached up, as though to brush a finger over Loki’s cheek, only to drop his hand with a sigh. “Perhaps it is in that, that the issue lies.”

“Then I should think a drink or two would help put you in a merrier mood,” Loki said.

Around them, the players continued to dance, swirling around the cramped floor. There were others dancing as well, and it was a fight just to get clear of the press of bodies. When they reached one of the tables, Thor dropped down onto the bench with a groan, while Loki settled the skirts of his dress around his legs. Before either could do more than raise a hand, a large tankard of ale was set down beside Thor’s elbow, and with it, a platter of meats and dried fruits.

Loki lost track of time after that, straying from his brother’s side minutes later when Fasolt returned to drag him back to the dance floor. It was strange, to follow where normally he led, but it was also easy, something which Loki attributed to the skill of his partner. Thor was still at the table, caught up in a competition to see who could drink the most mead and still remain upright, but he glanced up now and again, catching Loki’s gaze with unnerving accuracy each time. Loki was on his fourth dance, Fasolt spinning away and into the arms of a buxom woman with a shy smile, when a strong arm wrapped about his middle.

“You are having fun without me, brother,” Thor said. Though his breath was thick with drink, his words were clear and his stance steady. His fingers, where they fit themselves over the curve of Loki’s hip, flexed. “Come back to the table with me. My companions have cleared away for the time being.”

Loki countered with, “Perhaps I would like to dance, instead.”

“Then dance we shall, later. The night is young still, and there is little cause for sleep when the celebrations will continue through all of tomorrow. It is our one night out.”

“And so we should spend it dancing,” Loki insisted, but he allowed Thor to drag him back to the table nonetheless.

This time, when Loki made to take a seat on the bench, Thor stopped him, hauling Loki down onto his lap and pinning him there with a strong arm across his hips.

“I shall not have you slipping away from me again. Come, there is plenty of food for the two of us and you have hardly had more than a single plate’s worth all night. I feel it is my duty to see that you eat.”

To prove his point, Thor reached for one of the berries, crushing the fruit between his fingers as he pressed it to Loki’s lips. In that moment, Loki knew that his time had come, and he opened his mouth, letting his tongue slide over the tip of Thor’s finger before he pulled away.

“If that is how you plan to feed me, I will waste away before the night is over,” Loki said.

“Then what would you have me do, brother?”

Loki was aware of the fingers digging into his flesh, but also the curious gazes of those around him. It was dangerous, doing this here in front of witnesses, and though Loki did not trust a single one of them, he also knew that what happened on this night could—and would—be blamed on too much mead and the Midsummer fever. The knowledge emboldened him, and he leaned over to pluck up a slice of meat, layering it with cheese.

“If you are going to feed someone,” Loki said, shifting close enough that padded front of his dress pushed up against Thor’s chest, “then you do it like this.”

Loki fed the meat and cheese to Thor, and as his brother chewed, Loki reached for one of the untouched goblets and took a long sip. He held it in his mouth until Thor swallowed, then brought their lips together and let the rich wine pass from his mouth to Thor’s, smirking at the startled sound Thor made. When he pulled away, there was the expected surprise writ across Thor’s features, but there was also _hunger_. Loki shivered in the face of it, and the arm around him tightened its hold, pulling him closer.

“You…” Thor began, but the words died unfinished in his throat as his gaze dropped to Loki’s mouth. He made a noise, raw and wanting.

“And now, dear brother, I think I should like to dance.”

Thor nodded and did not resist when Loki pulled him to his feet. He stumbled twice, and when Loki turned to look at him, there was warm flush spread high over his cheeks. When they reached the dance floor, he had to be guided, his hand placed on Loki’s corseted waist. The breath he drew was shaky, and it stuttered across Loki’s cheek as they moved together.

From there, it was an even split between dance and drink. Loki indulged as he rarely did, encouraged by the hungry looks Thor shot his way. It was an easy thing to lose himself in the moment, and Loki was not aware of how late the hour had grown until Fasolt appeared at their side looking apologetic.

“It is time for us to retire, Your Highnesses, as we are leaving well before dawn. I did not wish to interrupt, but the garment we lent you, Prince Loki, is one of our finest.”

“Of course.” Loki made to pull away, but Thor would not be shaken off.

“I will go with, and we can return to the castle from there,” Thor said.

Loki opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it. “All right.”

As they moved past the troupe, Fasolt leaned in close to whisper,

“End scene, Act one. When the curtain rises, we shall see if our hero has conquered…or _been_ conquered.” He winked and pulled away, but the words echoed through Loki’s head as they exited the tavern.


	6. Chapter 6

The flush of drink was high on Thor’s cheeks when they stumbled past the Great Hall, blue eyes as bright as the sky on a cloudless day. One of the doors opened to allow a servant to exit, and the sudden roar of laughter that exploded out into the otherwise silent hallway startled them, and they paused a few feet away to catch their breath. Thor was pressed close to Loki’s side, his skin hot where their arms brushed, and Loki thought he could hear his brother’s heart pounding, an echo of Loki’s racing pulse. After a few moments, they headed for the stairs, leaning into one another more for the comfort of closeness than any real need of aid in remaining upright.

At the sound of footsteps behind them, Thor grasped Loki’s arm, pulling him into an alcove tucked behind a tapestry. They stayed there, listening as a small group of revelers passed them by. Loki could see no reason for hiding, but he was glad for it all the same, as it meant being in close confines with Thor. They waited for the footsteps to recede, Thor’s hands tight where he gripped Loki’s arms, and when Thor seemed certain the corridor was deserted once more, he ducked out from behind the tapestry, tugging Loki along with him. The thin haze that had resulted from their over-indulgence with the dinner wine was beginning to fade, leaving in its stead the restless itch of Loki’s magic grating through his veins. Thor, he knew, could calm it; tame the magic into a hum Loki could use later, in his music.

Their rooms were only a short distance away, but with each step closer toward their destination, Loki’s trepidation grew. What he had thought a marvelous idea hours—days and even weeks—ago seemed foolish now, when the reality of it was standing less than a hand’s span away from him. Thor, he knew, had no inkling of Loki’s true intentions once they were inside the room, and believed they were merely going to carry on with their celebration, just the two of them.

They could, Loki thought as they stopped outside the door to Thor’s room. It would require little effort to ring for a servant or a page and have more wine brought to his room. Even less to convince Thor to stay the night. Loki thought that perhaps he could content himself with that, and forget just how receptive to Loki’s advances Thor had been, back at the tavern. He must have made some noise, for a second later, Thor’s fingers were at his wrist.

“Brother?”

“I was thinking perhaps we could send for some food and wine? If you are not tired, we could play a game of chess?”

The torches on the wall cast shadows over Thor’s face, hiding away whatever thoughts Loki could normally read there. He was not silent though, and when he spoke, his tone was warm and fond.

“I have no head for the game, brother, but I will make a valiant effort not to embarrass myself if you promise not gloat upon your victory.”

“Done.”

There was a page tucked away in one of the alcoves across from their rooms, and Loki signaled to him.

“What is your name?”

The boy hesitated, then said, “Delling, Your Highness.”

“Delling, please fetch some wine from kitchens, and some bread and cheese as well. Leave them at the door, then you may retire for the evening.”

“Steward said—”

“I will see that you are not punished,” Loki said. “You may join the other servants in their festivities, or you may simply go to bed. The choice is yours. My brother and I will not require further services this evening. Should the steward dock your wages, come to me and I shall see that you are compensated.”

The page nodded, the leather soles of his boots slapping against the stones as he ran for the kitchens. When Loki turned, it was to find Thor watching him, gaze annoyingly unreadable.

“You surprise me. We both know the steward will withhold any monies the boy has earned this night regardless of whether he discovers the abandonment of duties. Coin is paid out to the boy’s family directly.”

Loki sniffed, disdainful as ever where the steward’s policies were concerned. “It is his first feast, and he is young yet. It is no different from how I treat every other first-year page on the eve of Wintersnights. It is late, but there are still small gatherings in the servants’ quarters, and he will not be granted the opportunity to join in the revelry next year.”

“You are softer of heart than you would let on, brother,” Thor said. He pushed open the door, moving aside to let Loki pass.

The space Thor had left for Loki was not enough to permit an unencumbered entrance into the room, which meant that as Loki stepped around him, kicking the door shut behind him, Thor was right there...as was his scent. He smelled of mead and leather, of rich wine and sweat—a potent combination at any time. Without meaning to, Loki found himself leaning in closer to breathe Thor in, and something within him loosened.

He could tell the moment Thor sensed the change in him, his body tensing ever so slightly. Despite his obvious wariness, he did not immediately pull away, even when Loki’s lips brushed his own. It was only when Loki repeated the action that he moved, bringing his hands up to grip Loki’s arms, holding Loki away from him.

“Close as we have always been, would you deny me this, brother?” Loki asked, his words a bare whisper. Thor’s features were shrouded in the shadows, save for where the moon’s glow lent an eerie cast to his hair.

“I would deny you nothing, but this—” Thor shook his head. His fingers flexed where they clutched at Loki.

_Is forbidden_ , remained unsaid, hanging in the air between them. Loki acknowledged the words even so, his tone fierce as he said,

“Is it? Would it be so wrong? When it is you and I? It is said many of our Gods were born of such unions.”

Thor made no immediate answer, and as the silence stretched on, Loki’s stomach twisted in upon itself. He jerked free, reaching for the handle of the door, intent on making his escape with what remained of his dignity. Just as his fingers brushed the cool metal, Thor moved, turning Loki around and crowding him up against the wall. He trapped Loki there, almost touching, but not quite.

“There is nothing in this world I would not give you, brother, myself included,” he said, his voice rough and too loud in the otherwise quiet room. Despite his brave words, when Thor reached to take hold of him, there was hesitancy in the motion. Loki could feel the slight quake in the fingers that touched at his neck, but then those fingers were moving up, fanning over Loki’s cheek. Thor’s palm curved around the hard edge of Loki’s jaw, and all he could think was, _Thank the Gods he did not turn me away_.

Thor stopped, his gaze locked on Loki’s, their breaths mingling in the scant distance between them. It was possible that in so short of time he had come to his senses and was searching for a way to back out of this without hurting his brother. If Loki was a better man, a true Asgardian, he would have allowed it. To Thor’s misfortune, Loki was _not_ a better man. In his life, there were only two things that provided him with true happiness and pleasure: Loki’s music and Thor. The revelation of two weeks prior had very nearly lost him the latter. Now, Loki was even more determined to hold onto it, to hold onto _Thor_ , any way he could.

With a ferocity that caught Thor off guard, Loki shoved him away, using that momentum to reverse their positions. His mouth was insistent, biting and rough as he brought their lips together. All of the want, all of the desire Loki had been holding back came pouring out, and he grew feverish with it, wanting everything all at once. Only Thor’s hands on his shoulders calmed him, sure and steady as they eased Loki back, gentling the maelstrom of emotions clogging the air.

“Easy, brother,” Thor murmured. “I should like to see you.”

He cupped Loki’s jaw, pressed a thick, callous-roughened thumb to the point under Loki’s chin and tipped his head back. This time, the kiss was soft, almost painful in how tender it was. Loki had long known his brother to be a romantic, but he had never had proof of it, not even in his dreams. Had he but known that this was what awaited him, he might not have been so inclined to hide his feelings from Thor. It was due in great part to this that it took all of Loki’s concentration not to send the curtains up in flames when he sent his magic out to light the candles.

Thor pulled back then, grinning as he glanced about the room. When his gaze moved back to Loki, it was clear some of his hesitancy had returned, though not enough to keep them apart. “Father would have our heads,” he said, lips caressing the line of Loki’s jaw.

“Only mine, dear brother. After all, I am not heir to the throne.” He nipped sharp and unforgiving at Thor’s bottom lip when it came within reach, then added, “He could try and send me away, but I would never leave you.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Thor agreed. “I would not allow it, and if he somehow succeed in casting you out of our home, I would follow, no matter where.”

The thrill of genuine pleasure that followed those words was enough that Loki could allow himself a moment of responsibility. “A fool you would be, then, to leave your kingdom without Her prince,” he chided, twisting his face away. “Your loyalty must first lie with your people.”

“Why such serious conversation when just moments ago, you were panting for me. Fine, yes. I concede to your greater knowledge. Father was mistaken for not choosing you as heir. You would make a far better king than I.” Thor’s speech was broken by kisses pressed to Loki’s cheeks, eyelids, and brow.

“And what would you do, then?”

Thor smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I would be your champion, of course. The slayer of our enemies. Your sword and your shield, when you so wished it.”

“You are an idiot,” Loki replied, fond. He let the subject drop and tugged Thor closer, opening his mouth to give way to Thor’s tongue when it begged entrance.

The urgency he had been feeling not long ago was already beginning to fade into something more tolerable, and Loki relaxed into the door. Thor was his, and for now the knowledge was enough to content Loki’s desire to lay claim to something as his own. Giving over control of the kiss was an easy thing, and allowing Thor to manhandle him away from the door, across the room and onto the bed, more so.

There was a minor struggle to free themselves of their jackets, but Loki dared not attempt magic again. His control was tenuous at best, less so when Thor’s hand slid beneath his shirt to map the dips between Loki’s ribs. A calloused thumb brushed over his nipple and Loki sucked in a sharp breath, taken aback by how good the touch felt. He was no blushing virgin certainly, but his previous _entanglements_ had been restricted to the pleasure of his partners. Ladies of the court who believed they could melt the ice around his heart and young knights who cared only that the hand around their cock was not their own.

“It is a shame,” Thor said, breathing the words into Loki’s mouth, “to see such surprise upon your face. Vain creature that you are, one would imagine you were well-versed in the pleasures of your body.” If there was an insult laced within the words, it was soothed away by the warmth in Thor’s gaze as his eyes met Loki’s. “You have no idea how much the thought pleases me to know no other hand has touched you thus.”

“You are an arrogant—” Loki broke off with a curse, his whole body arching up as Thor’s mouth traced the same path as his thumb. Even so, when Thor looked up once more, mouth curved up in a smug smile, Loki rolled his eyes and shoved at his shoulder. “Do not look at me like that. I am not some damsel to be swept off her feet by your—”

“I think it time we found another use for that mouth of yours.”

Loki shot him a smile, sly and daring. “A treat, I promise you. I am called silver-tongued not just for the sharpness of my words, brother.”

In a move that left Thor with a stunned expression upon his face, Loki rolled them over. It worked only because his brother was caught off guard, and he wasted little time after that in yanking free the laces of Thor’s trousers. This was nothing new, the greedy roll of hips anxious for what was next to come. But where Loki’s previous partners had been slim, and not overly long, Thor’s cock was nearly the length of Loki’s hands and far thicker than any other he had seen before. The tips of his fingers did not meet when he wrapped them about Thor, and Loki faltered, a touch of uncertainty coming over him. For a single moment, he regretted his decision not to try this act previously. By use of his hands only, Loki had assured himself he was not at risk of illness as he could not guarantee the health of his partners, let alone the unknown partners of those met with.

To fail here, he knew, would be his greatest humiliation. It was the touch of Thor’s fingers to his cheek that spurned Loki on, and he looked up, meeting Thor’s gaze as he took just the crown into his mouth. Loki was careful to keep his teeth tucked behind his lips—he remembered too well the pain from having the jagged edge of young Eldgrim’s tooth catching on the delicate hood of his cock—as he slid his way down. Closing his eyes, Loki traced the vein along the underside with his tongue, taking Thor as deep as he could before retreating for breath.

“I would kill the man who taught you such a thing.” The words were ragged, but his tone unforgiving.

Loki pulled back completely, licking his lips. “Then you would mourn a brother, and I would call you kinslayer from whatever realm awaits me after this.” He narrowed his eyes, regretting his words the moment he saw Thor’s broad grin and the look of self-satisfaction on his face. “Say what is on the tip of your tongue and I shall not be as mindful of my teeth.”

Thor’s gaze was hooded and he held his tongue, but the curl of his lips made clear his thoughts. Disgruntled as Loki was at the idea of his brother deriving so much pleasure from being Loki’s first in this, he pushed it aside to be dealt with later. Thor’s arrogance was best handled when there were no other distractions.

It was not hard to find a rhythm to his movements, switching between sliding the foreskin back and taking only the crown of Thor’s cock into his mouth and sinking down until it hit the back of Loki’s throat. He discovered, whilst doing the latter, that Thor felt any vibration made within his throat, and greatly appreciated them, if the snags in Thor’s bedclothes were anything by which to judge. Loki did it twice more, then pulled off to replace his mouth with his hand.

From his vantage point, Loki could see the fine tremors that rippled over Thor’s skin, and when he brought his free hand up to cup Thor’s heavy sack, he could feel it tighten. The end was near, and though Loki considered drawing it out, he chose the kinder path instead. While his hand continuing its gentle tugging, Loki bent forward once more and dragged his tongue across the crown of Thor’s cock. He tasted the sharp burst of flavor there and pulled away just in time to avoid getting a mouthful of Thor’s release.

His brother groaned through his orgasm, his hips arching up off the bed and one hand coming up to clutch at Loki’s hair. Even then, Thor was careful not to pull or twist the fine strands. Loki stroked him through the aftershocks, releasing him only when Thor’s gasps turned pained. When he would have pulled away completely, Thor dragged him back up, rolling until Loki was half pinned beneath him.

“Would you not have me return the favor?”

Loki snorted. “You are hardly able to hold yourself up.”

Thor rumbled his disapproval and pressed his face into the curve of Loki’s neck. “I am still too spent from my own pleasure to offer you the use of my mouth,” he said, lips teasing over Loki’s skin. “But I am not useless, brother.”

As he spoke, he let his hand drift down, curling deft fingers around Loki’s length. It took Thor several attempts to find the right rhythm, but once he did, it was Loki’s turn to shake and gasp. He clung to Thor’s arm, urged him to go faster only to have Thor slow, and all but snarled when Thor removed his hand all together.

“Goddamn you, Thor,” Loki grated out between bared teeth. He reached down, intending to finish himself off, but Thor knocked his hand away.

“Like this,” Thor said.

With firm hands, Thor rolled Loki toward him and fit one thickly muscled thigh between Loki’s, urging Loki to ride him. Thor’s free hand came to rest against Loki’s back and slid it down until his fingers slipped between his cheeks, curious in their quest. A calloused finger brushed over Loki’s hole, and like that, he was coming, his orgasm startled out of him. Loki’s eyes closed of their own volition, and when he opened them again, it was to see Thor grinning at him. He rolled his eyes but kept his biting retort to himself, not willing to see Thor’s smile fade so soon.

**. . .**

Thor drifted off to sleep not long after, and Loki took advantage of the quiet to gather his thoughts. Slipping from the bed, he donned his brother’s robe before opening the door. On the floor, set out of the way, was the tray of food Loki had called for, and he carried it back to the table, the door closing with a gentle thud that did nothing to rouse Thor from his slumber. A glance at the alcove showed that young Delling had taken Loki at his word and left for the evening.

It was only as Loki was sitting down to eat that he noticed his violin case was on the table as well. His cheeks heated at the implication, then relaxed when he remember that Thor had been the one to arrange the violin’s delivery. Thor would have made it very clear to the servant that Loki’s rooms were not to be disturbed, leaving only Thor’s own room as the destination.

On a whim, Loki reached for the case and removed the violin, his fingers tracing over the smooth grain. It was only then that Loki realized the wood had been stained to match the color of his hair, and his lips curved up in a smile. Whatever doubts Loki had been harboring over his decision to give in to his attraction to Thor, to his _brother_ , they were assuaged by the idea that Thor had shared those feelings, even if only subconsciously.

With a glance at Thor’s slumbering form, Loki gathered up his violin and bow, and carried them to window seat. In a bold move, he let the robe fall away, shivering in the slight chill of the room. A flick of his wrist had the fire in the hearth roaring, though, and by the time he sat down on the cushions, his skin was flushed with warmth.

It took no thought at all to begin playing, no effort to decide what notes to start with, or what melody to choose. The music came to him as easily as breathing in that moment, a direct result of every feeling Loki had for his brother compounded by the realization that the very thing he had desired for so long was now his. He lost himself to the low, happy tones and the short, sharp bursts of pure joy that filled the air so completely, that when Thor’s chest came to press against his back, Loki very nearly startled out of his seat.

“Keep playing,” Thor urged.

His voice was heavy with sleep, and his arms curled low where they would not interfere with Loki’s playing. Thor’s shoulders, however, proved rather restrictive, and it took all of Loki’s not inconsiderable talent to play despite the impediment. He managed only a few lines into the next piece before giving up. The heat from Thor’s mouth against the back of his neck drove him to distraction, and Loki set aside his violin.

“Thor.”

Loki was not sure if he was cautioning Thor against further attention, or asking for more. Thor interpreted it as an invitation, and he set his teeth into the curve of Loki’s neck, biting down with gentle pressure as his lips worked to draw blood to the surface. He moved his mouth down along the line of Loki’s shoulder, stopping to work another mark into the skin there as well. It took Loki a moment to realize just where Thor’s mouth was, but the moment he did, he stiffened in the embrace. Thor did not appear to notice Loki’s sudden discomfort, and when he pulled away it was to say in a curious, almost offended tone.

“It is such a strange thing, this mark. I asked mother once, when we were boys, if any other in our family had one like it, and she said no, that this was the only one. On anyone else, I would not care, but on you...”

Loki attempted to pull away, but Thor tightened his hold. Tone sharp and bitter, Loki said, “On me it marks me as the freak I am, is that it, brother?”

“No,” Thor replied, and he sounded so tired, so _sad_ , that Loki stopped trying to pull away and went still. “No, when I learned that it was something only you bore, I found myself near insane with jealousy. I did not understand how something like this could be a part of you, _have_ a part of you, in a way that I never could.” He paused, and even though Loki could not see his face, he knew that Thor was considering Loki’s previous words. “That it sets you apart from all others...that bothers you?”

“How could it not, when all I have wanted my whole life was to fit in, to be just like the rest of you?” It was on the tip of Loki’s tongue to reveal just how different he was, but even then, he could not bring himself to make such an admission. Not when he stood the risk of being rejected after finally achieving what he had desired.

Thor made a soft, hurt sound, and pressed himself closer. “I would not have you any other way but as you are, Loki. There is no part of you I would change. Not your wicked tongue, nor the cruel look you get when you are afraid of caring too much.”

“I can only beg, brother, that you remember those words always,” Loki replied. Closing his eyes, he lifted the violin into place once more, prepared to play away the melancholic mood that had settled over them, only to have his bow go screeching across the strings as Thor’s hand dropped into his unprotected lap. His fingers curled around Loki’s length with deliberate carelessness, stroking once.

Lips brushing Loki’s ear, Thor whispered, “Keep playing.”

“As you wish,” Loki replied.

In truth, Loki had not a single hope of being able to concentrate on anything other than Thor’s fingers, too dry and too rough, tugging on Loki’s cock. He made it through only a handful of ragged, sharp notes before Thor huffed out a breathless laugh against his neck and pushed the instrument away.

“Never mind. Your mind is not on the music, and I should like my ears to remain unscathed.”

There was a rustle, then the soft clink of glass against glass. When Loki looked down, it was to find a bottle of oil tucked next to the window, half tipped over. He reached for it, thinking he would set it to rights, but before he could, Thor’s hand was sliding down his arse, one finger touching at Loki’s hole. He pushed, the very tip of his finger breaching Loki, and the sensation was akin to that of Loki’s magic at its most potent, when it was thrumming through his veins.

Loki’s hand slapped out as he braced himself against the glass pane of the window, and he spared a thought to wonder if anyone could see them. It was still dark out, yes, but the fire in the hearth was bright enough that their figures had to stand out, even from a distance. The idea should have worried Loki, but instead he found it heightened his awareness of Thor. A moment later, he had not a spare thought for anything more than the deep slide of Thor’s finger as it pushed its way inside Loki.

“ _Oh_.” Loki’s breath stuttered out of him, and he rose up onto his knees, wanting desperately for anything Thor would give him. The next moan was punched out of him by the addition of a second finger, and in an embarrassing display more fitting for someone years younger than he, Loki came, the fingers of his free hand digging bloody indents into the wrist still banded across his hips.

“Loki.”

Thor groaned his name as he pulled his fingers free. A second later, Loki realized the sound he was hearing was that of Thor stroking himself to completion. The shock of feeling his brother’s release against his skin had Loki falling forward, and only Thor’s grip on him kept him from striking his face against the wall. It took several minutes for Thor to find his tongue, but when he did, it was not the mocking words Loki expected that came from his mouth.

“I think I should like to do that to you again in an hour or so, when I am recovered and we have eaten.” Thor laughed and pressed a kiss to Loki’s shoulder. “Is it always like that for you?”

“No,” Loki said. He stood, unsteady as fine tremors ran through him. It was an effort to walk the short distance to the table, enough so that he did not refuse Thor’s offer of assistance. He would have liked to put on the robe, but when he reached for it, Thor let out a noise of such displeasure, Loki stopped. “No, it is not, though I do not have much to compare it with. My own fingers are adequate enough, but if it is the assurance that no other has touched me thus...” Loki glanced up at Thor through his lashes.

“Though I am sure it offends you to hear me say such, it pleases me that no one else has had you, brother.”

“I would not say that I am offended,” Loki countered. “Merely that I do not see the importance of worry about such a thing.”

“You would not, brother, for you hold yourself in low regard. Your value to me, however, is great, and the more of you I do not have to share, the happier I am.”

At the table, Thor took the seat closest to the fire, then drew Loki down to sit on his lap. Loki contented himself with being fed pieces of candied meat and cheese that had gone soft in the warm air, and did not struggle when Thor rearranged him so that Loki was straddling Thor’s lap. They stayed like that, eating from one another's fingertips—Loki more so than Thor—until all of the food was gone and the candles had burned down two quarter marks. Even then, Loki remained astride Thor's wide-spread thighs, allowing his brother's meandering touches. One his hands drifted down, and it took Loki a moment to realize that Thor was dragging his fingers through the mess he had made on Loki, and with a grimace, Loki reached for a napkin.

“You are a heathen,” he said as he reached back to wipe his skin clean.

“And yet you still love me.”

The words were meant to be teasing, but they had Loki freezing as something cold and painful settled low in his gut. When he dared to look up, Thor was watching him, a frown pulling his eyebrows down. In an effort to save the mood between them, Loki leaned in toward him, letting the napkin drop to the floor unused. He looped one arm around Thor’s neck and pulled him close enough that their foreheads touched. Loki’s other hand dropped down between them to wrap around both their cocks, startling a rough sound out of his brother.

The oil was still over by the window, but Loki refused to move, even to get it. Instead, he caught the hood of Thor’s cock in his fingers and dragged it down to expose the crown. He used his thumb to gather the fluid beaded there, and spread it out over both their lengths. It was not quite enough to slick them entirely, but it was enough to ease the worst of the friction. It did not take much to have Thor on edge once more, a steady rhythm offset by the occasional dig of Loki’s nail into the slit of Thor’s cock, but it wasn’t until Loki set his teeth to the meatiest part of Thor’s shoulder and bit down that Thor came with a groan that reverberated throughout the room.

Loki started to pull away then, intending to finish himself off alone. Spent as he must have been, though, Thor was not content to remain an idle observer. He reached down, swiped his fingers through his release and then spread his thighs beneath Loki just enough to reach down between. The grin on his face was wide and almost feral, an expression Loki saw on his face only when Thor was in the midst of fight. It was the look Thor got when he realized what his opponent’s weakness was, and Loki was slow in understanding just what that meant for him.

With a gasp, Loki lurched forward, almost dislodging the two fingers pushing into him. Thor’s other arm wrapped around Loki’s back, jerking him even closer as Thor shoved in deep and hard. There was an intense flash behind the lids of Loki’s eyes, and then he was coming, spilling into the space between them. There was a long silence as they calmed their breathing, and when they finally pulled apart, it was Thor who spoke first.

“Is it usual for a man to be so sensitive there?” he asked.

Loki felt his face heat, and pulled away with a low snarl. “How would I know? Despite what you and your friends may think of me, I do not go around sleeping with anything and anyone who finds it within themselves to spare me a second glance.”

He stood, pushing away the hands that reached for him, and snatched up Thor’s robe before crossing to the basin of water meant for their morning cleaning ritual. His actions jerky, Loki dipped the washing cloth into the water, and cringed when it touched his skin. As he began to scrub, a hand caught hold of his wrist, and Thor stepped up behind him, his beard a near painful rasp against Loki’s neck.

“You are so prickly, brother. Every word I say you take as an insult when that is not my intent. Do you believe I think you less because it pleases you to be touched here?”

As he spoke, Thor pushed aside the heavy robe and touched his fingers to the place in question. Loki shivered and grit his teeth against the sound building up inside him. He leaned forward, bracing himself against the table, and did not pull away when the questing fingers began to move with more deliberateness. A single finger pressed in and Loki let out a shaky breath. He was not ashamed to enjoy the touch of another man, but to be reduced to such base reactions so quickly... _that_ was galling.

Loki was so focused on the feel of Thor’s fingers—two, now, that moved with unnerving accuracy—that it took him a moment to realize his brother was still speaking.

“—no shame to be found in allowing yourself to feel pleasure. I cannot even begin to tell you how you look when you come, let alone how it makes me feel.”

“Your flowery speech is more befitting of a woman, brother,” Loki bit out.

Thor let out a low grumble of dissatisfaction. “And that is what it always come down to with you, my likening you to a woman. Do you think I believe you less than a man? Is _that_ what is bothering you, brother?” Thor captured Loki’s shoulder with one hand as he slowly worked a third finger into him. “I do not know if I would find the same pleasure in having you touch me thus, but if you wished it, I would gladly switch places with you.”

As he spoke, Thor twisted his fingers, and they brushed over a spot inside Loki that had white-hot pleasure racing through him. He gasped out a shocked _ah_ , and his magic sparked, the air around them suddenly crackling with power. He tried to rein it in, to dampen the force of what was happening, but Thor’s fingers were relentless, driving from him all thought but that of _more_.

“Loki,” Thor groaned. “Brother, please.”

“Gods be damned, Thor, just _do it_ ,” Loki snarled.

It was more than being on edge, the feeling shaking through him. It was that, but multiplied, compounded upon until his very core was dagger-sharp and fracturing under the overwhelming weight of every sensation both inside and out. Loki had only a moment to process that which Thor was asking before the fingers disappeared and something much larger than three digits began pushing into him.

Loki’s first thought was that it hurt far more than he had anticipated. He opened his mouth to order Thor to stop, but all that came out was a high, keening sigh. His breath stuttered in chest as Thor pulled back, but when he began to push in once again, the stretch eased with the use of additional oil. This time, Thor did not stop until he was all the way inside Loki, their bodies flush. His hands flexed where they were clutching at Loki’s hips, and he exhaled shakily, the kiss he bestowed to Loki’s shoulder a rough drag of stubble.

“You are so hot inside, brother. I feel as though any second now, I will catch on fire.”

“Idiot,” Loki said, but the words were too strained to carry much heat. He shifted, wanting to ease the pressure from being split open and filled, and the change in angle had Thor’s cock brushing over the same spot from earlier. “I think you should move now,” Loki suggested.

“Are you certain?”

Thor asked out of politeness only, not waiting for a reply before he began to move. The first few thrusts were tentative, gentle pushes made to ensure that the friction would not be unbearable. Once he seemed certain movement would cause no additional harm, Thor withdrew almost all the way, then slammed forward. It was hard enough that Loki had to shift his grip from the small table to the wall, and he went up on his toes to hold the right angle.

“I have wanted this for so long, Loki,” Thor said suddenly.

His confession caught Loki off guard, and he closed his eyes tight against the well of emotion that bubbled up.

“Then why—why did you not say something sooner?” Loki could not help the unhappiness in his tone any more than he could keep the needy sounds from spilling out of him as Thor picked up a harsh, almost frantic rhythm.

“How—how could I, when I did not know—how you felt? When all...I could think was that I was betraying your—your trust—each time I lay between the same—sheets as you.” Thor’s loosened his grip on Loki’s hips and used one arm to hold him in place, pinned to Thor’s chest. He stilled his hips and whispered his next words directly into Loki’s ear. “In this, as in many other things, brother, you have proven most brave, and though I shall hold a small, passing regret for all the years in which I did not believe I could touch you so freely, I am glad that you have given me the chance now.”

Then Thor was leaning him into the wall, one hand set against Loki’s cheek to keep him from being bruised by the uneven cut of stone. The pace Thor set was punishing, and the only sound was that of Thor’s breathing, ragged and punctuated by grunts. Impossible though it should have been, Loki could feel himself growing hard once more. He was determined not to come before Thor this time, and thought he would succeed, only to have Thor’s hand on him, jerking off rhythm to his thrusts.

Loki came with a muffled a shout, twisting his head to the side at the last minute to sink his teeth into Thor’s wrist. His whole body shook and did not stop, even when Loki went limp in Thor’s grip. With care that belied the frantic snap of his hips, Thor bore them down to the floor, Loki seated on the wide spread of his thighs. And when Thor touched tentative fingers to the place where they were joined together, Loki gasped, his magic sparking out of him, sending out a star-like shower that danced over the walls and melted into the floor.

As Thor neared his own peak, he went still, and both hands moved to grab hold of Loki’s hips, holding him in place. He sounded almost pained as he came, and his nails bit into Loki’s skin, threatening to break through. Thor did not remove them until the last shocks of his orgasm faded, and then it was to band his arms about Loki’s waist, keeping him on Thor’s lap for a few moments longer.

When they did finally part, Loki could not hold back a hiss at the sting. His body contracted, though whether to hold Thor inside or try to ease the aching emptiness that followed, he was not certain. Loki’s legs, when he finally stood, shook and he stumbled twice as he made his way over to the bed. With a soft groan, he collapsed down upon it, inching his way toward the center. Behind him, Thor moved about the room, his actions marking where he traveled. Loki focused on that, on the comforting sound of Thor washing at the basin, of water dripping onto the floor, and he knew even before the bed dipped that Thor was there, a wet cloth in hand to cleanse Loki.

“Mm.” He murmured into his pillow, flinching away from the cold cloth. At Thor’s gentle nudging, Loki widened the spread of his legs and lifted his hips. The gentle probing of the cloth was expected, the press of lips to that same place, was _not_ , and he shivered at the intimacy of such a touch. “Thor?”

“No more, I promise, brother,” Thor said, laughter coloring his tone. He moved up the bed, and wrestled them both under the covers. “Sleep. The celebrations continue without us and I should like to find my friends later.”

Loki hummed his agreement, and this time, when he was pulled back into the shelter of Thor’s arms, he did not resist. This moment made it worth any punishment Odin could dispense once Loki’s treason came to light. His last conscious thought was no matter what else befell him, he would set aside all further thoughts of the meeting set for just after Midsummer and allow himself to believe that he deserved this moment.


	7. Chapter 7

The list of items was short, and Loki was thankful for that as he made his way into the bowels of the castle for the third time. Thor was spending the evening in the town with his friends and no one had cared when Loki had excused himself early from dinner. The first two artifacts had been simple enough to require, and the magic that pulsed within them stripped away with little effort. It was the ring that proved to be less accessible, heavily guarded as it was. From what Loki could tell, to touch the ring with his bare hand would mean certain and immediate death, and he was smart enough not to give the genuine article away. His intent, should he find the cursed ring, was to create a duplicate that bore no magic and trade that to Aakon.

The sound of two guards approaching had Loki pressing himself into a nook in the corridor, and for just a moment, he almost regretted refusing the assistance of Aakon’s thief friend. Almost. But though Loki had no qualms from stealing from the man he once called father, he knew better than to allow a Jötunn into Asgard’s palace, let alone to share with him the secret passageways of the city and castle. There were too many unforeseen variables involved in that, and Loki was not going to risk the safety of the entire kingdom just to see his false-father brought to his knees.

“Steady on,” he murmured, voice low enough to pass undetected by any spying ears. He inched his way along the wall, leaving his hiding place behind, and stopped only when he reached the door to the largest vaults. Here, his father kept all manner of things, all of them deadly in their design. A few items caught Loki’s eye, but not enough to distract him from his goal.

The ring was located near the far back, hidden away inside several boxes. Loki was careful as he opened each, his hands protected by the scarf Thor had bought him two birthing days ago. With shaking fingers, Loki picked up the ring, twisting it this way and that in the dim light of his magic. From the bag at his hip, he withdrew a plain gold band, and with that, he made his replica. Only when Loki was certain that no eye, no matter how trained, could discern a single difference between the rings did he put the real one back.

Four guards passed him on his return, but Loki paid them little mind. He paid even less to the maid he passed at the top of the stairwell, his entire being focused on the ring still clutched in his hand. He knew that at some point, the spell keeping him hidden from sight had faded, but he spared not a single second of thought as he made his way back to his room. There was still much to be done before he could take the ring to the meeting point.

While Aakon claimed to have no gift for magic, it was clear that he could sense power, and the ring resting upon Loki’s palm bore none. It would take spells of great intent to have the thing pulsing with magic as the original had, and even more to ascertain that the magic within the duplicate ring did not taste of Loki. There were spells he had read long ago, when he first began his studies, but they were old, archaic in language and form. He did not doubt that they would leave him far more drained than anything else he had tried, and he would need a day at the very least to recover.

At the door to his room, he paused. Though the guards standing at the entrance did not meet his gaze, he could see the unease in their stance. With a muttered curse, Loki closed his hand into a fist and willed the ring into non-existence. Assured that it would be safe from prying eyes, Loki pushed open the door and feigned surprise at the sight of Odin seated at his table.

“Father,” he said, careful not show his distaste at saying the word. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Odin stood, his eyes cold as he studied Loki. When he spoke, his tone was flat and unyielding. “You are up to something. Do not think that I am unaware. You would do well to cease whatever childish antics you are carrying on with, for I can promise you, you will be punished accordingly.”

“Of course I will, Father.” Loki shed his jacket, dropping it over the back of his chair, and with it, the little satchel he kept with him at all times. He pretended not to notice when Odin slipped surreptitious fingers into the bag, turning his back as he rummaged through his wardrobe for a clean shirt. “Was there anything else?”

“I understand that you are angry—”

Loki did not allow him to say anything further, spinning around to pin his father with a look of absolute fury. It galled him that Odin did not so much as bat an eye.

“Do not pretend to understand _anything_ where I am concerned. Save your words for those misguided enough to think your care genuine.”

For the span of a single heartbeat, Odin appeared almost _saddened_ by Loki’s declaration. Then it was gone, and in its place was an expression of steely resolve. “If that is what you choose to believe, so be it. We all make mistakes, my son, and with them, we bear their consequences. My only hope is that you do not have to carry that weight alone.” He did not say more, and as the door shut behind him, Loki felt something deep within his chest give a vicious twist that nearly brought him to his knees.  
It was only the reappearance of the ring that pulled him back from the edge of whatever emotional breakdown he was about to have. He could feel the sharp tug of hurt beneath his breastbone, the ache that settled into his bones, and though he strove to turn it into anger as he usually did, he could not. Instead, he collapsed into his chair, his fingers sliding over the ring, memorizing the details engraved into it.

When Loki felt calm enough to stand once more, he made certain his door was barred and reached for the towering stack of books at the end of his table. Unlike Loki, Odin had little care for languages not currently in use, and so though all the evidence he would have needed sat right in front of him, he lacked the ability to see. More than that, though, the very fact that Loki had left the books in plain view meant that Odin believed they were not of importance.

“More the fool he,” Loki said, as he took a seat once more at the table.

He knew by heart the contents of each book, and it took him only a moment to find the two books in question. The candlesticks closest to him came to life, the flames dancing high, then settling into a more reasonable glow. It occurred to Loki then that he should have called for a meal before starting his task for the evening. He would have to remember to remove the bar on his door once he was done, or Thor would no doubt hack it from its very hinges in an effort to gain entrance.

The first spell was simple enough, though it would be far more costly. A small transference of power was required, imbued within the ring, and leaving Loki weakened at the loss. That would be the last thing he would do, to avoid collapsing before all was done. The second spell, the one to remove all traces that the magic in the ring was Loki’s, would need a potion as well. Loki was thankful to find that all the necessary ingredients listed were ones he already had, and he gathered them up.

Two hours later, his hair sticking uncomfortably to his forehead and his skin reeking of the mixture before him, Loki was ready to begin the actual spell work. Most of his magic was intent-based; words were unnecessary as long as he could picture what he wished to accomplish. Magic relying on spells tended to be more complex as there was no way to visualize what he wished the outcome to be. It also required a greater amount of focus and patience, of which Loki had in spades.

He spared a glance at the door to his rooms and the heavy bar installed there. It would be a challenge to move it when the time came, but the risk of Thor barging in too soon had him leaving it in place. Once he was done, he would need a place to hide the ring, and scanned his room for somewhere safe, a place that Odin would not think to check. In the end, he settled for taking a notch from one of the wooden posts of his bed, cutting it out with an amateur hand so that the ring would fit into the carved out space, a piece of leftover wood hiding it from sight.

Though it was all in his head, Loki could already feel the telltale flush of cold seeping into his veins. This was his least favorite part of magic, the only thing that kept him from using it more readily. He remained silent, the words forming in his mind alone, and as he felt the first tug deep inside him, he shivered. Tendrils of ice-cold magic seeped out of his fingers, invisible as they reached for their goal. It took him a moment to realize that the hum he was hearing was coming from himself, and while it did not bolster the power being fed into the ring, it did make the resultant pain just a bit more bearable.

The potion was next, and when he poured it over the ring, it looked as the gold band was expanding. Loki stepped back, one arm raised in the event that the ring exploded, and exhaled only when the magic coating the ring settled. The air in the room had grown stifling hot, but it began to ease when the spell came to an end. The cold set in then, burning bright within his chest, and his hands shook as Loki reached for the ring and tucked it into its hiding place.

It took almost all of his remaining strength to open the door, and his teeth were chattering. His sole thought was of his warm bed, and he spared a glance of longing at the barren hearth. He could have called for a servant to start a fire, but even that seemed like too much effort, and when he reached for his magic, he found only shards of ice, expanding out to freeze the very blood in his veins.

Loki staggered over to his bed and sank down into the covers, his entire body wracked with shivers. The fingers that clutched at his quilts were tinged blue, and he thought of Aakon’s thief friend, Kotkel, whose own skin shone the palest of blue as he traded artifacts for written spells. He had wondered at it then, and he did so again as he stared at his trembling fingers.

He was still shivering hours later when the sun began to set. Though it was summer, there was a lingering chill from the over-long winter that had plagued Asgard. It physically _hurt_ to keep his eyes open, but with every passing minute, Loki’s body grew more and more tense, and he was afraid that if closed them, it would be for the last time. He tried twice more to light the fire in his hearth, and after the final attempt, gave up. Loki could not remember the last time he had suffered so, and he could not help but feel not even a humbled and humiliated Odin was worth such pain. Just as Loki began to think he would never be warm again, his door opened, and a welcome voice called out his name.

“Brother?”

Thor’s voice was a balm to Loki’s very soul, but when he opened his mouth to reply, it was to find that his teeth were still chattering too greatly for speech. He clenched his jaw, certain Thor would move on when he received no response, but instead, the door was pushed open enough to admit Thor, and left ajar to let in some light. Loki watched as his brother entered the room, a small torch in his hand, and soon enough, Thor had a fire blazing in the hearth. The torch was returned to its original holder in the corridor and the door shut and barred firmly against intruders.

In the next breath, Thor was hovering at the edge of Loki’s bed, his features tight with concern and just a hint of anger. When he reached out to press his hand to Loki’s skin, he cursed. Loki jolted, taken aback by the unbridled fury in his brother’s voice, for it was a rare occasion in which it was directed toward Loki.

“You were using magic. Again. And you did not think to send a page for me, at the very least?”

Loki’s teeth cut into the inside of his cheek as he replied. “It was all I could do just to lift away the bar. I could not have stood long enough to open the door, let alone call for someone.”

“Then call for me first. I would have come, no matter what.”

Loki let his eyes speak for him, unable to voice his thoughts just then. Yes, he could have called for Thor beforehand, but then he could not have created the potion or bespelled the ring. For all that Thor could be oblivious to a great many things, he would have recognized the ring immediately, and no excuse from Loki would have satisfied him.

Another shiver ran through Loki, and this time it did not stop. His body continued to tremble, and Loki squeezed his eyes shut. His stomach was unsettled and his head dizzy, and every breath that he drew in made his chest tighten painfully. Thor’s anger became a distant concern in the face of the never-ending cold that filled Loki.

“Do not think you are so easily forgiven,” Thor said.

Unhappiness lurked in his tone, but the anger was gone. There was the faintest rustle of clothing and then the bed was dipping under Thor’s weight as he slid beneath the covers. He pulled Loki into the shelter of his arms, the heat Thor produced scalding against the chill of Loki’s skin. He tried to escape it, pulling away with a soft noise of discomfort. Thor, however, would have none of it, and after pulling Loki flush against his side, maneuvered them until Loki was pinned to the bed by Thor’s bulk.

Feeling was slow in returning to Loki’s body, starting in shoulders and back, where he was most exposed to Thor. His toes were the last to warm, and though he was not certain, Loki guessed at least three hours to have passed since his brother’s arrival. He attempted a mild stretch to see how stiff he had grown, only to find the action inhibited by Thor’s grip on him. Loki opened his mouth to speak against being confined when lips brushed over his bare shoulder. It was only then that he realized Thor had stripped him sometime during the night.

The hand splayed across Loki’s stomach with seeming careless intent flexed, Thor’s fingers pressing into his skin before sliding further down his body. It was counterproductive to do so, but Loki found himself speaking against his will.

“For someone who was furious with me just hours ago, you seem quite willing to overlook your mood now.”

Thor set his teeth to Loki’s shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave a mark and drawing a hiss from Loki. In reply, he said, “Do not mistake wanting to touch you with no longer being mad. I am still angry, brother, but it is an anger borne of love, not hate. I worry what will happen when I am not around to tend to you.”

“Do you foresee yourself leaving me, then?”

With a huff, Thor shifted until he was able to pry both Loki’s arms up to pin them to the pillow above his head. When he settled back down, he was resting fully atop Loki, his weight braced on his elbows even as he continued to grip Loki’s wrists. “I would not be parted from you for all the world, brother, but if you were to drain yourself while I was on a hunt or stuck in a council meeting, there would be no one else to know to check on you. I fear entering your rooms to find that this sickness has at last claimed you, as much now as ever before.”

It was a pretty little speech, and it terrified Loki to know that Thor meant every word. He could not imagine being so open about his feelings, not when he stood to lose it all should his brother ever discover his actions, let alone what Loki truly was. Something of his fear must have shown on his face, for a second later, Thor was pressing his lips to Loki’s neck, jaw and mouth. He lowered more of his weight onto Loki, slotting himself between Loki’s thighs with ease. When he rolled his hips down and forward, Loki could not contain his gasp. Thor was already hard and leaking, and the movement had the head of his cock dragging across Loki’s stomach and brushing up against his own dick.

Thor’s rhythm was unsteady, but Loki gave his brother points for effort. They had only done this twice before, and both times, Loki had been the one to take charge. He had assumed it would be so for some time, Thor’s sense of morality and hesitancy making it impossible for him to take the initiative. Loki opened his mouth to tease, but Thor chose that moment to tighten his grip.

“Tell me, _explain to me_ , brother, how it is you will share this with me, but not the thoughts going through your head.”

Loki turned his head away, but the delay lasted only until Thor managed to take hold of both Loki’s wrists with one hand, using the other to tip Loki’s face back so that they were eye to eye once more. He felt almost compelled to respond, but when he did, it was with derision.

“I share my thoughts with you often enough. Daily, I tell you that your friends are idiots, that you are irresponsible and—”

“I mean, Loki, why do you not share with me the thoughts that matter, the ones that have you hiding away in your rooms whenever possible, that drive you to drain yourself when you practice your spells and tricks.”

A laugh caught in Loki’s throat. “There are some things better left unsaid, brother. And were you to know all the thoughts that went through my head, you would have no recourse but to hate me...and all would be lost.”

“Have you so little faith in me?” Thor asked.

Loki shook his head. “It is not you I have little faith in, Thor. It is me.”

Where they were pressed together, both had gone soft during the conversation, and Loki made to pull away, only to have Thor go lax above him, trapping him. It was tempting, the idea of removing his brother by means of magic, but his body still felt raw from earlier. With a sigh, Loki slowly relaxed his muscles, going loose within Thor’s grip. He was rewarded with a brush of lips against his own.

They rearranged themselves after another moment, and though the mood had died a while before, that did not stop Thor from reaching down between them to grasp Loki’s cock. The calluses on his fingers were rough as they dragged along the sensitive underside, and the nail Thor pressed to the slit was ever-so-slightly jagged. The pain was grounding, though, tying Loki to the moment and keeping his thoughts from wandering. He could feel his skin flush, and his hips pushed up of their own accord, craving more of Thor’s touch.

Dropping a kiss to the curve of Loki’s shoulder, Thor said, “I understand your need for privacy, brother, and I would not ask that you give that up on whim for me. But if you are going to be doing spells that leave you near-dead, I ask that you let me know in advance so that I may find you after you are done. Keep your secrets, Loki, but do not let them consume you. There is nothing in this world that could keep me from you, no matter how terrible you think it is.”

He did not give Loki a chance to reply to his words, cutting him off with a kiss that was demanding yet thorough. Loki did not doubt Thor meant what he said _now_ , but when Loki’s deceit was eventually exposed, he knew that things would be different.

Not one to remain inactive for long, Loki slid a hand down to join Thor’s, his long fingers curling around Thor’s length and lining it up with his own. Their fingers slotted together as they took hold of their cocks in one combined grip. Their movements were lazy, Loki’s because he enjoyed the fierce look of concentration on his brother’s face, and Thor’s because this was all still new for him. Loki came first, his breath stuttering out with a sigh. Thor jolted a bit, expression rapt as he watched Loki spill across his stomach, and he released his hold to drag his fingers through the mess.

Thor’s face twisted into something almost contemplative as he brought his fingers to his lips, and Loki felt his cock twitch at the sight of his brother _tasting_ him. His fingers flexed, reminding them both that Thor had yet to come. The first two strokes were jerky, off-rhythm and a bit more rough than he them to be. Thor, however, approved. He groaned low and throaty, pressing the sound into Loki’s shoulder. When he came, Thor set his teeth to the crook of Loki’s neck, bruising the skin there. Loki’s hand did not stop until Thor murmured a soft protest, and even then, Loki did not release him, but instead loosened his grip.

At first, Loki only knew that Thor was petting his stomach. It took him a moment to realize that, in fact, his brother was mixing his own come with Loki’s and rubbing the resultant mess into Loki’s skin. He grimaced and shoved at Thor’s shoulder, pushing him away.

“Do not be crude. You are not a dog; marking me with your _scent_ is only a disgusting show of possessiveness, and I have no use for such.”

“Of course you do not, Loki,” Thor said, but there was a grin in his voice.

Thor pulled away completely, then, climbing off the bed without a backward glance, and Loki bit back a noise of discontent. He refused to call him back, and bit back his sigh of relief upon Thor’s return, wet cloth in hand. The water was cold, but Thor was quick in cleaning them both off, then he was sliding back under the covers, body warm as it pressed against Loki’s.

“Sleep,” Thor said, “and when you wake, I will call for some food.”

Loki was too tired to argue. He drifted off to Thor’s fingers combing through his hair.

**. . .**

All through the next day and the following, Thor refused to be parted from Loki’s side for longer than it took to relieve himself. Loki had not taken into consideration his brother’s dedication to overseeing Loki’s health, making it impossible for Loki to find a private moment in which to contact Kotkel, let alone meet him. It was not until Lady Jane appeared that he had an excuse to leave Thor’s side. Even then, it took some convincing, Thor’s countenance going dark when Loki began to move back toward the doors of the library.

“Where are you going?” Thor demanded.

Loki could feel his lip curl up and he struggled to set his features into a more neutral expression. “Out. Spend some time with our cousin. I promise I will return within an hour’s time.”

For a moment, it looked as though Thor was going to argue, then Lady Jane pressed her hand to his arm. “Thor? You two have been inseparable for the last two days. Do you truly find my company so taxing that you cannot bear to remain alone with me?”

Thor frowned down at her. “Never that, fair cousin. Please.”

Lady Jane’s smile lit up her whole face. “Good. Now, I hear that it is Sif’s birthday soon. Darcy and I…”

Loki made his escape as quickly as possible, not looking back to see if his brother was watching him. Unlike Thor, Loki had little desire to spend time in Lady Jane’s company. Perhaps, were it not already assumed she would marry Thor when he inherited the throne, he could have found some pleasure in conversing with her. She was smart, exceedingly so, but she also knew how to enjoy silence, which was more than he could say about her friend, Lady Darcy. To her credit, what Lady Darcy lacked in social graces she more than made up for in the kind of crude language Loki found refreshing in young women of the court.

With only an hour of peace, Loki did not have the time to dwell on his brother and cousin. He hurried to his room to change, retrieved the ring from its hiding place, and then hastened to the garden. Frigga was sick, or such a trick would not work, but no one else would think to disturb Loki’s duplicate as it napped under a tree. As long as Thor and Lady Jane did not chance upon him, he would not be caught out. Closing his eyes, Loki focused on blanketing himself from prying eyes, then slipped out of the garden and down through the castle gates to the palace city.

There were few people out, allowing Loki more freedom in movement. Within minutes, he was stealing up the back stairs of the lower city inn where Aakon stayed during his trips to Asgard. He had been absent the last two meetings, but had sent a message through Kotkel that he would be in town for this one. Outside the door to the room, Loki paused and removed the ring from his pouch. It was wrapped in the remnants of an old shirt, and he could feel the hum of power it contained. With a careful glance around, Loki let one hand hover over the ring.

There was not a single doubt in his mind that the ring would be tested, but Loki hoped it would not be more than twice. Either way, the death of a citizen of Asgard would be on his conscience unless he found some way to trick both Aakon and Kotkel, not to mention whomever Laufey chose to test the ring on once it was in his possession. His hand shook as he willed yet more magic into the ring, then he tucked it back away in pouch. Loki prayed he would not be found out as rapped twice on the door.

“You did not send word,” Kotkel said as Loki slipped inside the room. Aakon was seated at the table, and his eyebrows rose as Loki let the spelling hiding him from sight fade.

“I could not. My brother would not leave my side long enough for me to do so. I had not thought you would be here, however. My intent was to pass the along my gift to Aakon and let him contact you.” He grimaced. “I will be unavailable for the next week, unless my brother decides I am no longer at risk of doing harm to myself.” At Aakon’s curious gaze, Loki merely shook his head. “It is nothing. He is worse than our mother, worrying after me if I sneeze more than once in an hour.”

Aakon laughed, but Kotkel only narrowed his eyes. “If he is so concerned for your safety, how is it you were allowed to escape his sight, Prince Loki?”

“He was waylaid by Lady Jane, our cousin. I told him I was going out for a walk, but would return within an hour’s time. I will need to leave soon if I am not to be caught in my lie.”

Kotkel nodded, reaching for the cloth covered ring as Loki withdrew it from his satchel. He studied it for a long moment, then turned cold, red-brown eyes on Loki.

“We will need to test the ring, of course. It would not do well for any of us to be found at fault should the ring prove not to be genuine.”

This part Loki was prepared for, and he replied calmly. “You and I are both aware of the consequences should we touch the ring with our bare hands. If you wish to do so, then by all means, please do. I, however, am not willing to risk my life just to see if King Odin has been keeping a false ring all this time.”

“I do not think that will be necessary,” Kotkel replied. Before Loki could so much as breathe, Kotkel’s arm shot out. He dragged Aakon up out of his chair, ignoring the man even as his protests became pleas. Loki could only watch in stunned silence as the ring was pressed into Aakon’s hand.

There was no sound, no sudden charge of energy before Aakon collapsed on the ground, his eyes still open wide in shock. Loki’s stomach turned, but he did not look away. In a low voice, he said,

“You should leave through the back door.”

“And how will you explain the body, False Son of Odin?”

Loki glanced up. “With a blade through his heart. Should anyone ask, I will say that he spoke of treason and attacked me. There are few who would question me openly.”

Kotkel nodded and slipped from the room. Loki waited long enough to ensure that he was truly alone, then knelt beside Aakon’s body. He recalled one of their first conversations, and he hoped that the same fate did not await Aakon’s son. He debated over calling for a servant, but no one had seen him enter the room and he preferred to keep it that way.

Seconds later, Loki was once more invisible, and he slipped from the room undetected. Soon enough a servant would be by to check on Aakon.


	8. Part Two

It was early morning still, and Loki was passing the time in the great hall, seated in his false-father’s ornate chair. It was an awkward position to play his violin in, but Loki loved nothing more than a challenge. The leg hooked over the arm of the chair bounced in time to the idle tune he was playing, more of hindrance as it jarred him, but there was no audience to please, only himself. He was contemplating adding a twist of magic to the notes when the door opened, and Loki tipped his head back, letting the violin fall into the cradle of his chest as the hand holding the bow slid down.

Thor strode in, expression dark. Behind him was Prince Thodeth, flanked by his two guards. Loki’s eyes slid half-shut as he watched their approach, and he could see the strain tugging at the corners of Thor’s eyes. With a yawn, Loki dropped his leg back down into place, settling back with his legs splayed out. His actions had the desired effect, and Thor hesitated mid-step, gaze darting down and then back up.

“Brother,” Loki greeted. He slid his gaze over to Prince Thodeth, then back to Thor. He cared little for their guests, and found their presence in Asgard to be stifling at best. Turning his full attention to Thor, he let one corner of his mouth curve up. “And what brings you to me?”

“We leave for the Winternights hunt in just a few hours, brother. I wished only to ask if you still intend to join us.” Thor glanced back at his companion, grimacing when he faced Loki once more. “Prince Thodeth will be attending as well.”

With another exaggerated yawn, Loki stood. His bow hung loose in his hand, the end dragging along the stone as he walked toward Thor. “I could use the distraction,” Loki agreed.

“If it is only entertainment you seek, perhaps you would do better to remain behind? My sister is most fond of your music.” Prince Thodeth’s flat, silver eyes showed nothing of what he was thinking, but his disdain was clear in his tone.

“I rather like the idea of being out of doors. I have not been on a hunt in years,” Loki added.

Prince Thodeth stepped closer, bringing with him the perfumed scent of his peoples’ magic. It made Loki’s nose itch and his mood darken. Eyes narrowing, Prince Thodeth said, “I should think you would find it boring. You are no hunter, no warrior. What then could be your motivation?”

“Perhaps it is the company,” Loki said. “Regardless, my reasons for attending are of little consequence to you, Prince.” He smirked at how dark Prince Thodeth’s face went at the dismissive tone. “I would require your assistance in packing, Thor. If you have the time.”

Thor’s relief was obvious. “Of course. Hogun and Fandral are readying the horses. Lady Sif has taken charge of procuring food from the kitchens and will see that it is stored far from Volstagg.” Thor opened the door, stepping aside to allow Loki to pass, but not Prince Thodeth. As they made their way through the castle, Thor kept himself between Alfheim’s prince and his brother, going so far as to widen his stance and leave no room for Prince Thodeth to pass by. It was an insult, and not a slight one, but Loki held his tongue until they were safe within his rooms.

“You are too bold, dear brother. The prince will not tolerate your abuse for long, and Odin will be furious when he discovers how you have been acting. You are the crown prince, and thus more is expected of you where our guests are concerned.”

Thor crossed the room to throw himself upon Loki’s bed. He stared up at the canopy, arms crossed over his chest and his scowl was so fierce, Loki feared the drapes would unravel out of fear.

“He follows my every step, and when it is not he, it is that accursed sister of his. Do you think them strange, Loki?” he asked. Thor rolled to his side and propped his head up in his hand. “You will want your fur-lined cloak, not that one. The nights are cold enough to leave a man blue in the face, and it will be only you and I in our tent.” Thor frowned. “I do not think I could bear to remain in close quarters with the others.”

“If they are strange, then what, pray tell, are we? Their ways are foreign to us. Princess Ruaera is ill, is she not? Some circumstance of the magic that lives within in her. And when Prince Thodeth is not with you, he is at her side, ever attentive though it is clear he does not wish to be so. I believe we are not the only ones to fear her powers.” As he spoke, he withdrew the clothing he would need, packing it away with care. It was not yet time for snow, but as Thor had said, the last vestiges of summer’s warmth had finally melted away, leaving in its stead the promise of an early frost.

“I only mean how they keep their silence as they watch us. It is as though they are reading our very souls.”

A shiver ran through Loki at the idea. “It is doubtful, but perhaps we would not be remiss in securing our thoughts. I should not like to think what they would do if certain secrets were brought to light.” He met Thor’s gaze for a long moment, then bent to his task once more. “I do not think Prince Thodeth is of much concern when he is alone, but I would be wary when the princess is at his side.”

“I shall worry less now that you will be joining us. His queen has already dictated that he must keep at least one of his guards with him at all times. When he approached me earlier, it was to suggest that as I am one and he two, I should share a tent with him.” Thor made a face at the thought.

It occurred to Loki then that he did not know who would be attending the hunt. When he asked, Thor said,

“Fandral, Hogun, Sif and Volstagg, of course, as well as fifteen other knights. Father has allowed half as many squires, and no servants. The younger lads sleep together, their tent closer to the fire.” And further from an predators or thieves who might attack in the night, though Thor did not say so aloud. Such threats remained unspoken in the hopes of not drawing unfavorable attention from the fates. “Queen Sha’yn is sending seven of her own hunters along with the prince and his guard. Nearly forty in all, I should think.”

“And I shall no doubt be the only one not participating in the hunt. I suppose I am to wait at the camp with the children?” Loki strove to sound uncaring, but the idea of being left behind at the camp like an untried boy annoyed him.

“I think, brother, that it has been too long since you have joined us on a hunt if you think there will still be a camp to remain at after the sun rises, at least for the first five days. Once we have begun to bring in large game, we set up a permanent camp.” He sat up, a frown turning his lips down. “If you would rather not go, Loki, I would not force your hand.”

“Of course you would not,” Loki said in agreement. “So the camp is not permanent. I am quite capable of keeping up, if that is your worry.”

Thor sighed, an aggrieved sound that had one corner of Loki’s mouth curling up. “If you are not concerned by the prospect of spending a fortnight in the cold, with only a tent and furs to keep you warm—”

“And you,” Loki added.

It was the correct thing to say, judging by the way Thor’s expression brightened. “Yes, and I shall do my very best to see that you do not suffer from the cold. Otherwise, brother, I hold no concerns toward your capabilities on a hunt. I daresay there will be little in the way of entertainment.” He leaned in close, his next words earnest. “It is your company I desire. I wish only to have you by my side, selfish though that is.”

“And it is only for you that I am going, so we are of an accord,” Loki said. He hummed as he cast a critical eye over his belongings. He had chosen more than he could fit in his pack, but it would require the most minor of spells to enlarge the inside of his bag, one he had already cast permanently on the packs they used for food. That they still persisted in under-packing travel rations was unsurprising. To that end, Loki withdrew two extra packs and laid all three side-by-side.

Thor watched him, ever-fascinated by Loki’s magic. That _was_ surprising. No matter how often Thor was present during the times Loki exercised his skills, he was forever enraptured. It was flattering to say the least, when no one else within Asgard could abide the reminder of Loki’s differences. Not even Frigga, who urged him explore, to practice his magic within the safety of his room or the gardens, could bear to witness it herself.

When the last of his clothing was packed away, Loki began to strip, intending to don his warmer riding leathers. As he was reaching for the hose he would wear beneath his trousers, Thor caught hold of his wrist, forcing Loki to climb onto the bed lest he be pulled off balance.

“This is hardly the time, Thor,” Loki said, striving for a chastising tone. To his shame, the words came out breathless, and he did not fight as Thor pressed him down into the soft bedding. “Someone will be by soon.”

“No one dares enter your rooms without strict permission. We are safe, and we have an hour still until we must meet the others in the courtyard.”

Thor whispered the words against Loki’s jaw, his beard rasping and no doubt leaving a telltale rash. Loki opened his mouth to utter some vehement complaint against such folly, but Thor chose that moment to bring their mouths together, his teeth sharp against Loki’s lips. He braced himself above Loki with one arm, trailing his free hand down the length of Loki’s body.

Loki huffed, and turned his head away, refusing to meet Thor’s gaze. His embarrassment at being so exposed was outweighed only by the pleasure he felt at the reverence with which Thor touched him. He shivered as blunt fingers swept over his ribs, tracing as they learned. As much as Loki wished to indulge Thor’s mood, however, an hour was not near long enough for what he had planned. With a sigh, Loki pulled away, moving away from the bed to dress.

“When there is more time,” Loki promised.

Dressed, Loki retrieved his pack. He hesitated at the sight of his violin. At the very least, it would serve to keep him occupied during the evenings, and it would require only the smallest of spells to protect it against the cold.

“I should like to hear you play,” Thor said, interrupting Loki’s internal debate.

Mind made up, Loki collected his violin and bow, packing them both into the case with care. For all that Thor’s friends held little care for Loki, they enjoyed his music. This, he decided, would help buffer whatever ill will lay between them. Thor was on his feet by the time Loki was striding toward the door, and they fell into step as they headed down the corridor.

“I should like to stop by the kitchens,” Loki said, holding up the two spare bags. “While I trust the skills of you and your friends, forty men is a great deal to feed.”

“Not to mention the squires. They are growing boys and will no doubt eat their weight each meal. Your heart is larger than you let on.”

Loki snorted. “So you say.”

Lady Sif was still in the main kitchen when they tumbled through the door, and she spared them only a passing glance. While Thor conversed with Lady Sif and Cook, Loki wandered, peeking into pots and sneaking samples of the morning’s first batch of bread. One of Cook’s familiar-faced helpers pressed a roll drenched in honey into his hands. It was hard to discern age, but Loki judged her to be near thirty years his senior, with a sturdy build and rich brown hair streaked through with gray. The lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth deepened when she smiled, and the hand that patted his arm was warm and rough.

“The name is Gerdie, your Highness. You used to lead your nanny on a merry chase, and always, highness, you would find your way down here in the kitchens. I would sit you by the fire and feed you sweets until one of the maids was sent to fetch you.” She nodded to Thor, her smile widening. “Near enough you came alone, but always when leaving, you would beg a treat for your brother.”

“I should like one now, Gerdie, if it is not too much trouble.”

Gerdie laughed. “And you shall have it, my prince. Here, now.” She pressed a cloth into his hands, the outside damp and sticky. “You be sure to come see me as soon as you have returned. You are too thin as it is. Two weeks in the woods and you will be naught but a ghost.”

“You are too kind, Gerdie,” Loki murmured.

“Never for you, your Highness.” With a wink, Gerdie slipped away, returning to her work at one of the long tables.

Loki stared after her in puzzlement. He had a vague recollection of the times she had spoke of, but none seemed quite as fond as she was led to believe. Loki’s escapes to the kitchen had been exactly that, a means of reprieve from the sharp tongue and stinging hand of a woman who held no favor for Odin’s second born child. She had been smart enough never to raise her hand to the heir in front of others, but her luck had run out the day the Lady Queen had witnessed her punishing Loki.

With a shake of his head, Loki cast aside the memory. It was in bad judgment to dwell upon such times for they would only dampen his mood, and Thor, slow-witted as he was in comparison to Loki, would note the change in his brother’s mood immediately. All hope for a quiet journey would be lost then for Thor would spend every waking second possible prying loose whatever secrets he could.

As though summoned by thought alone, Thor appeared at Loki’s side, the packs hanging from his back. His grip was strong as he took hold of Loki’s arm, and with a final wave to the kitchen staff, he departed, leaving Loki no choice but to follow.

“You will, perhaps, take some small comfort in knowing that Sif will not be joining us. Word was brought that Lady Darcy’s fever has grown worse. Sif will not be parted from her side, and so she has gone to tend to her... friend.”

Loki sniffed. “There are few here who are unaware they are lovers. You need not curb your words.” Then, because Loki felt no ill-will toward Darcy, he added, “I am sorry Lady Jane’s companion is unwell.” He meant the words. For all that he held little care for the Ladies Sif and Jane, Loki was fond of Darcy’s wit, and though she was not as intelligent as her lady, he found that conversation with Darcy was less tiresome than it was with the other ladies of the court.

Thor smiled at him, the blue of his eyes so bright in that moment that Loki felt thrown off center. “I knew you would be and passed along kind words in your stead. Our food is ready and the hour grows late. As it is, we shall be riding well past sundown if we are to make up for lost time.”

As they stepped out into the morning mist, Loki faltered in his steps. The group was as large as said, and everyone turned to watch as they descended the stairs. It was unnerving to have so many eyes upon him, and Loki could only wonder at what they were thinking. Then Thor’s hand settled at his back, the touch brief but there, a show of support that Loki hated himself for needing.

“I would wish you all the friends in all the world, brother, but if you should choose only one to keep at your side for all this life and the next, let it be me and know that I have already chosen you as well.”

The words were but a whisper, too soft to be overheard, and though Loki thought himself weak for it, he was not unmoved by the declaration. He did not reply until he was atop his horse, Thor’s hand clutched about the horn. Touching his fingers to Thor’s wrist, Loki said,

“And I you, brother.”

The moment ended when Prince Thodeth approached, his horse dancing in its steps. His guard was just behind him, as were the hunters joining them. His gaze moved from Loki to Thor and back again, but if he had some inkling of what had passed between them, it did not show in his expression.

“We are ready whenever you are, Highnesses,” Prince Thodeth said.

“Then it is time to ride!”

With a whoop more becoming of a young boy than the heir to the throne, Thor launched himself into his saddle. They left at a trot, but the moment they reached the dirt road outside the castle walls, Thor nudged his horse into a gallop, shouting out a battle cry that had his men joining in. With a groan, Loki urged his mare to follow suit, aware of Prince Thodeth’s presence at his side though he chose to ignore it for the time being. Together they skirted the outside of the group, coming up to flank Thor’s horse.

They rounded a bend in the road with only the turrets still visible above the trees, and it was only then that the tension in Loki’s shoulders melted away. The horses slowed, and the group began to break up, the squires on their geldings and the pack horses riding in the middle, well protected on all sides. Loki chanced a glance to his right and was surprised to see that even Prince Thodeth had visibly relaxed, the lines of his face softer, his fingers lax on the reins. When their eyes met, none of the prince’s previous hostility was to be found, only guarded curiosity and a smile untainted with suspicion.

“Perhaps you were right,” Prince Thodeth said, drawing his horse closer. “For us, the first Winternights hunt is a serious occasion. But here…” He waved a hand at the forest surrounding them, at the knights riding close together as they conversed with one another and the squires arguing which town lass was the prettiest. “Here, it is a time for men to be equal. To shed the weight of responsibility they are forced to carry otherwise.”

He left Loki with those words to ponder, dropping back to ride with his guard and leaving Loki alone at Thor’s side.

**. . .**

They stopped only twice during the day, long enough to water the horses and stretch their limbs. By the time they reached the clearing where they would make camp, just as the last of the sun’s light was beginning to fade, Loki’s legs were stiff and his back aching. Too long had it been since he remained in the saddle for so many hours on end. He was not alone in his pain, for several of the younger knights winced as they dismounted. The squires looked to be the worst off, and Loki took charge of them when it became clear that no one else would.

“You six, clear the area of sticks and stones. No, do not sit down. Your muscles will knot and your pain will be the greater for it, believe me. When the ground has been cleared, set up your tents. The knights will see to their own. Five of you to a tent, close to where the fire shall be made. You four, gather wood for the fire. We will need rocks to line the pit.”

The boys dispersed, their grumblings lost as they moved away. The horses would need to be tended to as well, but that could wait, for now. As there were no servants in attendance, the knights would see to their own tents while the boys prepared dinner and saw to the horses. In the morning, the roles would be reversed with the squires dismantling all the tents and checking the weapons for hunting while the knights saw to breakfast and readied their horses once more.

Already, Thor and six men, including Prince Thodeth, had disappeared into the forest surrounding them, their bows and arrows in hand. At best, they would return with a few rabbits, perhaps a quail. The real bounty lay past the forest in the sea. The seals caught there would serve more than one purpose: their skin hung to dry for the tanner, their fat melted down to make candles and their meat salted, later to be used in stew. Seven alone would be needed for those who lived within the castle, and Thor would see as many caught for the townsfolk this hunt. On the return trip, deer would be hunted, and when they arrived, the people who dwelled within Asgard’s walls would cheer.

The task of setting up the tent he would share with Thor was tedious, and though not unfamiliar, it had been a long time since last he needed to do so. He was glad for the aid of one of the younger squires, a boy not much older than Delling, who remained solemn-faced when thanked for his help. Once the bedrolls were laid out, and a lantern hung and lit, Loki returned to where the boys were struggling to get a fire going.

Loki dropped into a crouch between two of the boys, stretching one hand out before him. The faint spiral of smoke bloomed into flames that danced higher than his head, and Loki was rewarded for his efforts by several awed gasps. Only a few of the boys appeared unimpressed, and one withdrew completely, a scowl marring his young features. The circle was large, and after a few more minutes, the boys moved away to set up spits for whatever game the hunters might return with.

“You have been lost in thought for some time, Loki.”

Loki startled, whipping about to find Hogun watching him, stance cautious. “I have much to think about.”

Hogun nodded, and moved to take a seat beside Loki without invitation. His gaze went to the line of trees, and he relaxed. “When Thor said you would be joining us, I thought he was in jest. I know that we have not always been kind toward you, Loki, but it is good to have you with us once more.”

“You would be the only one to think so, if such is the case,” Loki said. “You and Thor, that is.”

“Volstagg, unthinking though he may seem, finds pleasure in your company when you are not cutting him down with your sharp tongue. Fandral...” Hogun shrugged, and reached down to pluck a thick branch from the ground. “Fandral sees only that Thor is easily bent to your will. He is less forgiving of your tricks than I, but when you are at ease, when you have your violin in hand...you are like a different person. One he does not feel the need to guard himself against.”

It was a curious thought indeed, that Fandral should perhaps be less loathing of Loki’s company than perceived. “And you? What reason have you to find care for me?”

“Aside from that you are the most important person to Thor? I see how you are when no one else is looking. With the squires, you show a gentle hand. You guide, rather than shout, and when they ask it, you use your magic to create pretty pictures that they might enjoy for no other purpose than to laugh. You can be insidious, yes, but you also give strength when Thor does not know he requires it, and for that... for that alone, I would put aside all discontent.”

“A pretty speech,” Loki replied. “My brother is right to keep you close at hand. Perhaps, when the day comes that he is made king, he will look to you for advice.”

Hogun’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and for several long moments he stared openly at Loki. With a shake of his head, he said, “There is not a soul in Asgard who does not know you hold that place already. It will be enough to remain a knight of Asgard and a friend to Thor, when that time comes.”

A great shout went up then, and they looked up to see Thor and a handful of knights behind him reenter the camp. Between them there were two dozen rabbits, a far better catch than Loki had anticipated. He stood, dusting away the bits of dirt and bark clinging to his trousers. Hogun took to his feet as well, a half-smile on his face.

“I will see to dinner. Thor will no doubt wish to regale you with the tale of how he caught each rabbit with his bare hands,” Hogun said. He was joined at the campfire by Fandral and two other knights Loki was unfamiliar with, and together, the men began instructing the boys in how to prepare and spit a rabbit for a fire.

“Loki!” Thor’s arm settled about Loki’s shoulders, tugging him close. “I see you have found at least one other to keep you company. Come, I am a mess and there is a stream not far from here.”

Loki glanced at the blood streaking Thor’s arms and wrinkled his nose with distaste. “Just so long as you remember there are others here.”

Thor gave him a wide, beaming grin. “Brother, that is twice now you have insinuated that my intentions are less than chivalrous. Perhaps it is not I who need be reminded there is an audience, but you, who cannot seem to drive from your mind the suggestion of—”

“Shut up,” Loki hissed. He could feel his cheeks heat, and was thankful for the cover of darkness. Beside him, Thor lowered his head, brushing his mouth to Loki’s ear.

“I will have you soon enough, brother. Not tonight, but perhaps the one after that, and then we shall see how steadfast you are in the face of your own pleasure. For now, though, I desire only conversation while I wash away a day’s worth of travel dust and rabbit blood.”

Loki nodded once, a sharp inclination of his head seen only by Thor. “Give me a moment to fetch a cloth and soap from the tent.”

It was no easy thing to navigate the path to down to the stream though the moon was high, and after the fourth misstep, Loki cursed and uttered a quick spell to light the way. The ball of light hung before them, not so bright as to disturb the rest of the forest creatures, but enough so that a foot would not be caught in a root. Just as they reached the bank, a rustling in the bushes behind them had Thor spinning on his heel, hand on his sword as he placed himself at Loki’s side.

“Reveal yourself,” Thor demanded, drawing his sword.

“I did not mean to intrude, your Royal Highness.” It was Prince Thodeth, and he stepped out of the shadows with his hands aloft, palms out. "I came only to wash, and realized too late that this spot was already occupied.”

Thor grinned and sheathed his sword. “There is enough room for us all. I would warn you to be brief, however. The water is near ice and to remain in the open air while wet is to ask for sickness.”

Prince Thodeth nodded, and as he approached the bank, gave them wide berth. Loki found a large, flat rock upon which he sat, handing Thor the soap and cloth in turn.

“There is great trust between the two of you,” the prince said at last, breaking the silence between them.

Loki regarded him warily, but it was Thor who responded. “Of course there is. He is my brother. There is no other I trust more.”

His words sent a sharp lance of guilt through Loki, and he curled his hands into fists, biting back the admission fighting to be free. When he looked up once more, Prince Thodeth was watching him, his gaze once more piercing. If he saw the treachery that blackened Loki’s soul, however, he spoke not of it directly.

“Humans are such puzzling creatures, forever caught up in their emotions. A man might hurt those which he cares most for, not out of hatred, but out of fear or anger. It is the job of those around him to forgive his sins and embrace him in spite of his offenses. There are few who manage this, for your emotions are like a wheel; they cycle through and through, going from hurt to fear to anger and back again. You two are different. I can sense it whenever you are close.” He nodded back toward where he had come and said, “When first you heard me, you drew your sword, Thor, but you did not place yourself between Loki and the perceived danger, despite that he is unarmed.”

“That is a mistake I needed only make once. My brother is adept at protecting himself.” Thor looked to Loki, a question in his eyes. It was easier to let his brother explain than to do so himself, and so Loki granted him permission. “My brother is best known for his trickery, but his skill with magic is not to be underestimated. Though he has not chosen to do so, he could kill a man without ever needing to lift a sword.”

Prince Thodeth stepped closer, an eerie cast to his eyes. “And how do you know this, if he has never done so?”

“Because I believe in him. And do not make the mistake of thinking that just because he carries no weapons you can see that he is unarmed. The sword was not meant for my brother, but he is deadly with a knife and _has_ , on more than one occasion, been forced to defend himself with little else.”

“You are a matched pair, then. Strength to the other’s weakness. A formidable enemy, as long as you stand together.” The last words were directed toward Loki, the silver of Prince Thodeth’s eyes all but glowing. “The path you have chosen carries with it a hurt you have yet to comprehend. Pray that it is not your fate to bear it alone.” Then he stepped back, shaking his head. “My apologies, your Highnesses. That was rude of me.”

“What—” Thor’s question was quelled by a sharp look from Loki, and the tension that had begun to grow dissipated. “We should return. The food should be done and if we are not quick, there will be none left.”

The return to the campsite was made in silence, Loki’s shoulder brushing Thor’s every third step or so. Prince Thodeth had taken the lead, but as they entered the clearing, Thor moved off to join his men, leaving Loki and Prince Thodeth to find their own seats. No sooner had they chosen a fallen log not far from the fire than a squire appeared, arms weighted down with food to be shared between them.

“Your Highnesses,” the boy said. He gave a short bow, then returned to his friends.

“What you said back at the stream,” Loki began.

Prince Thodeth shook his head. “Among my people, our names reflect our gifts. My name literally means ‘truth eternal.’ I do not see the future, nor can I see into the very depths of your soul, but I can sense the untruths cloaking your actions. It is a dangerous path you walk, but it is of your choosing. I caution you to think not just of the immediate future, but of the one that lies decades away still.” He touched his fingers to Loki’s wrist, warm like the sun on a summer’s day. “You have not even begun to understand the greatness of your gift.”

It was then that Prince Thodeth’s guard chose to appear. He bowed before his prince, and when he lifted his eyes, their gazes met and an unspoken conversation passed between them. He left as quietly as he had arrived, and Prince Thodeth stood.

“I shall retire now. My guard has informed me that we ride at first light. Sleep well, Prince Loki, and should you ever wish it, any secret shared with me will go no further, no matter the consequences.”

Sincere though the words were, Loki did not trust so easily. It was only as Prince Thodeth began to move away that he spoke.

“You are different now, than you are at the castle.”

Prince Thodeth smile was sad. “It is no secret that my sister is ill. As next in line for the throne, her well-being is of the utmost importance. When I am near, my responsibility lies first and foremost with her.” He paused to give Loki an assessing glance. “And now you see we are not so different in our reasons for attending the hunt, Prince Loki.” With that, Prince Thodeth slipped away, leaving Loki to his thoughts.

Stomach full and his entire being tired from a long day’s ride, Loki tossed his bowl amongst the others piled off to the side. Only one or two took note of his presence, and they turned away when Loki made no move to engage them. Thor was in the midst of group, head thrown back as he roared with laughter. The light of the fire caused the red in his hair to stand out more than usual, the strong line of his jaw drawing Loki’s eyes. It was all he could do to tear his gaze away, and he stumbled twice before righting himself.

Inside the tent, Loki pressed a hand to the furs he had laid out, warming them. He shed only his boots before scrambling beneath the covers, and he curled in on himself. Away from the campfire and without Thor’s impressive heat at his side, Loki found the cold of the night unbearable. A spell strong enough to permanently warm him would attract unwanted attention, and to continuously cast would leave him drained.

Just as Loki had resigned himself to the risk of spell-fever, the flap of the tent was pulled back, and Thor tumbled inside. The smell of mead was faint; his clumsiness at least was not a result of too much drink. The lantern swung as he moved, casting eerie shadows over the tent walls until at last he settled down beside Loki. When Thor looked upon him, he frowned.

“You are freezing. Why did not call for me?” Thor demanded, his voice a gruff whisper.

“Because you are not my keeper, that is why. I had forgotten just how cold the nights are.”

“No matter,” Thor said. He kicked off his boots, dousing the light in the lantern before crawling under the furs and drawing Loki into his embrace. “I am here now, brother, and though I know it pains you to depend on anyone other than yourself, let me give you this.”

Loki opened his mouth, ready to refuse, but closed it after another second’s consideration. Thor was willing, and Loki was cold. To turn him away would mark Loki a fool. With a huff, Loki twisted press more fully against Thor’s chest, grateful for the wall of heat that now lined his back. Thor’s arms tightened around him, and his beard scratched at Loki’s neck when he pressed a kiss to the skin exposed there. Some time between that breath and the next, sleep came, and Loki was none the wiser.

**. . .**

The next evening they made camp under a canopy of trees with a rock wall at their backs. It blocked the worst of the wind, for which Loki was thankful. While he would have liked a tent, the clearing proved too small, so instead sleeping groups were organized, the horses tethered in a ring around the hunting party for added warmth. The boys were split up this time, encouraged to pull on as many layers as possible before finding a space between the knights.

It was cramped, but no one complained, and as a reward, Loki withdrew his violin. He tested the strings, wincing a bit as they rang off-key. While he tuned his violin, food was passed around, and Thor set aside a bowl of rabbit stew at his knee.

“The craftsmanship is excellent. Are you not worried that the cold will ruin her voice?” Prince Thodeth leaned forward to inspect the instrument.

“It is spelled against most weather damage, though I have found that magic which affects the wood affects the sound as well. The strings, for whatever reason, do not seem so unfortunate.”

“I should think that is because your violin was constructed first. If the spell is woven into the wood as it is being shaped, it becomes a part of the violin, and thus a part of music. No worry of discord.”

“Unfortunately, I lack the means of creating such an instrument,” Loki replied.

The knights passed around drinking horns, pressing the mulled wine into the hands of the lads with the promise that it would warm their blood. It would not be long before the boys’ eyes were bright and their cheeks flushed with drink. For some it was clear they had never tasted such a beverage, and they drank with greed, unaware of how quick it would flow to their heads.

At last content that every note was now in key, Loki settled his violin into place. Thor stirred from where he was lying on a heap of furs, and with a jaw-popping yawn moved to sit at Loki’s back. It was impossible to play with a fur wrapped about his shoulders, but the new arrangement, with Thor’s back to his own, was agreeable.

Loki chose a festive piece to start the evening off. Though not originally written for a violin, Loki had succeeded in reworking some of the music, and after the first few notes, some of the older knights began to sing. It was an effort to tune them out, to focus only on the feel of the strings beneath his fingers, the rigid line of the bow. He led through four merry songs before winding down to a quieter set.

When Loki opened his eyes, he could see some of the squires had fallen asleep, their bodies slumped forward or sideways, their bowls of food and cups forgotten. Even the knights were beginning to droop, a few of them stumbling to their feet to collect the discarded dishes and set them aside for cleaning in the morning. As the men found their beds and checked on the squires as they were tucked in, Loki began a new piece.

The bow trembled as he drew out the first haunting note. The music hung in the air around them, and as the men’s heads found their pillows, he wove into the music a spell of warmth. It settled over the group, an invisible blanket that went unnoticed by all but Thor, who hummed under his breath. As the last note slipped free, Thor plucked the violin and the bow from Loki’s hands. He packed both away with care, then reached to pull Loki down into their shared nest of furs.

“You mustn’t,” Loki said, his voice the barest of whispers.

“Again, you accuse me of things I have not suggested be done. Be still and be warm, brother. My men will sleep well tonight and in the morning, we will rise ready for another day of travel. We should reach the sea within another few days, and then we will make a proper camp.” Thor’s words held a promise that left Loki yearning.

He did not sleep, however. Loki kept his breathing even, and after a moment, Thor relaxed, his grip loosening. Only then did Loki move, climbing out of his makeshift bed to don his boots and slip away from the camp. He paused twice to listen, certain that he had heard someone behind him, but when no one came forward to demand he explain himself, Loki continued.

Loki had felt it, when they first arrived, the magic that flowed beneath the ground on which they walked. He could feel it pulsing with life, unlike anything he had ever felt before. What magic could be found within close distance of the castle ran in thin rivulets, a faint trickling that Loki had taken notice of but never felt inclined to investigate as there was so little of it and no identifiable main source.

Here, a three-day ride from home, there were hundreds of rivers of magic, coming together to form pools of power. The one closest called to him, and Loki made his way toward it on unsteady feet. When he reached the place where the magic was at its strongest, he dropped to his knees and dug his fingers into the cold hard dirt.

It required almost no effort to draw power up, to pull the magic into himself and feel it slide through his veins. The burn of the magic was so great, it was not until he looked down that he realized he was shivering. The skin of his hands had a blue cast to it, and Loki yanked his fingers free from the dirt. It did not take long for him to feel the cold moving through him, and he lacked the energy to stand.

“You are a fool!” Prince Thodeth appeared at Loki’s side then, jerking him to his feet and pulling him away. “What were you thinking?” When Loki only continued to stare in reply, Prince Thodeth swore again. “A curse upon those who have left you ignorant of the ways of magic, Loki Odinson.”

The words were like a slap, and Loki, still shivering, snarled as he pushed Prince Thodeth away. “I am no—no—” He meant to say ‘no son of Odin,’ but the cold living beneath his flesh grew too great to bear and he collapsed to the forest floor once more.

“We must get you back to camp, Loki, or you shall die here. Get up.” Prince Thodeth made to drag Loki to his feet once more, but they were equally matched in size, and while the prince was a warrior in his own right, he lacked the physical strength to move Loki any further.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Prince Thodeth whirled around, and in doing so moved just enough for Loki to see that it was Thor standing just a few paces away, his sword drawn but pointed toward the ground.

“Your brother had discovered the lure of leylines. Their call is not strong within the limits of your castle, but out here, he could not resist. He nearly drowned in a pool of magic just now.”

Loki tilted his head to the side, listening to Prince Thodeth’s words, but they meant nothing. He was cold, and his body ached viciously with the need for warmth, so when Thor reached down to pull him to his feet, Loki clung to him. He pressed his face into the curve of Thor’s neck and drew in a shaky breath as sensation began to return to his body.

“I could—I could feel it,” he said, hating how his voice trembled. “When we first made camp, I could sense the magic. I meant only to discover the source of it, to see if it could be controlled.”

“And you very nearly died,” Prince Thodeth hissed. He looked ready to say more, but Thor hushed him with a raised hand.

“Thank you for leading me to my brother, Prince Thodeth.”

When Thor glanced down and Loki met his gaze, he could see the anger there, but just under that was worry. “I did not mean to lose myself,” he said in his defense.

“I believe you. No more talk, my brother. For now, let us return to the camp and see if we cannot ease the rest of the chill from your body. You could not have been gone long, but already you look close to death with cold. Your lips are blue.”

As Thor spoke, he brought his hand to Loki’s face, his thumb dragging roughly at Loki’s mouth. The heat of it chased away some of the cold, and Loki shivered when Thor pressed their foreheads together. There was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to pull away, to refuse to let Prince Thodeth bear witness to this part of them, but he was too tired to say anything then.

The walk back to the campsite felt unending, and by the time Loki was once more sinking down into the furs, he was too exhausted to do more than bat at the hands tugging off his boots. From his place at Loki’s feet, Thor sighed.

“You were a fool to slip away alone, brother. Do you have any idea what would have happened had Prince Thodeth not found you?”

Loki lifted his head long enough to meet Thor’s gaze and said, “You worry too much, brother. I am fine. I will not make the same mistake again, rest assured.”

Thor lay down beside him, his arm curling tight about Loki’s waist. The silence that followed was weighted down by the words Thor refused to say, but Loki could hear them all the same. Across the way, Prince Thodeth returned to his own sleep roll, and through the dim light of the dying fire, their eyes met. Loki saw no censor there, but a new awareness and he wondered if all his secrets had been discovered. Then Prince Thodeth smiled, stiff but warm, and Loki knew his sins were still his own to bear.

He did not dwell on why that thought brought him so little comfort.


	9. Chapter 9

Not far from sea was a small holding, the former home of one of Asgard’s oldest earls. Now it housed two families whose job it was to maintain the lands and see to it that the boats shored along the water’s edge remained in good repair. Two large stables took up much of the land, and what little was left was used for the barley crops during the summer season. The living structure itself stood tall over the barren land, thin curls of smoke rising from the stacks denoting the hearths within.

The threat of an early frost had become fact earlier that morning, the men waking to find the furs covering them stiff with ice. They had been slower in packing away the camp, and now, with the snow falling steadily around them, even the horses had grown sluggish. Loki shivered as the wind whipped his hood back, but for as uncomfortable as he was, beside him, Prince Thodeth was twice so.

Prince Thodeth clapped his gloved hands together and tried vainly to huddle further into his furs. Loki winced in sympathy and sent out the faintest tendril of magic to bolster the prince’s efforts. He received a smile of gratitude in return. Thor, who had dropped back to check on the squires, moved to the front and drew his horse to a stop.

“We will rest here for the night. At first light, we leave for the shore.”

Loki thought to ask about sleeping arrangements, but kept the question to himself not wanting to draw further attention to himself. He need not have been so careful, however, for the moment group was moving again, Thor was beside him, speaking.

“It is tradition that the all the men sleep together in the great hall here, but as I am not the only one from the royal family attending, I will have beds drawn up. Prince Thodeth and his guard will share one room, and you and I will share the other.”

“You are not afraid this will cause dissent?”

“No,” Thor said with a shake of his head. “The men wish for nothing more than a warm place to sleep. The next four days will be the hardest. We set sail on icy waters, headed for an island that is almost never without snow. This may be the last warm night they have until our return.”

Loki twisted in his saddle to glance back at the long line of men. When he turned to face Thor, it was to offer his magic as a means of keeping people warm.

“You mean well, brother, but that is not our way when we are on the hunt. Save your magic for yourself and Prince Thodeth as neither of you are used to such weather. I believe, Prince Thodeth, that where you are from it is almost eternally summer.”

Prince Thodeth emerged from the depths of his fur cloak long enough to reply. “It is true. Our magic is connected to the very land on which we live. While we have our spells, we channel much of energy into maintaining a more agreeable climate.” He tugged his cloak around him tighter, adding, “I worry that my men will suffer greatly. I had thought we would have a few weeks before the true cold came.”

“That has been so in the past, but every year, the first snow begins earlier and earlier. And Jotunheim is not far. Much of this comes from them, and the cursed magic that marks their land. When we replenish our food, I shall see that your men receive extra clothing. And though my own men are not in need of it, my brother’s offer of magical aid stands. No one among my group would think less of you.”

There was a moment in which it seemed Prince Thodeth would refuse, but then his face cleared and he smiled. “I would appreciate it. As I said, we are unused to such cold and I would not put my pride before the welfare of my people.”

“Not long ago,” Loki said, “my brother was not of the same mind. In the last two years since our father’s health began to decline, he has become a prince worthy of his title as heir. You two are well-met, and your people are privileged to have you as future kings.”

Thor’s eyebrows rose in surprise at the flattery, but Prince Thodeth’s brow creased, his eyes darkening with concerning. Loki shrugged aside his gaze, unwilling to bear the burden of uninformed sympathy. Prince Thodeth no doubt thought him envious or self-pitying, but in truth, Loki had no desire to be king. Once upon a time, when he had thought his brother unworthy of being heir, Loki had thought to outshine him. An impossible feat, he had discovered, but more than that, Loki lacked the selflessness required of a king.

Loki was pulled out of his thoughts by a loud whoop, and seconds later, Volstagg raced by, Fandral hot on his heels. Several of the other knights were right behind them, and soon enough, Thor was kicking his horse into a gallop, quick to gain the lead. Loki rolled his eyes at their antics, content to remain behind with Prince Thodeth, his guard, Hogun and the squires.

“Princes,” Hogun said, drawing up beside them.

“Hogun,” Loki replied.

He glanced back over his shoulder at where the squires were shivering in their saddles and reached out with one hand, sending a wave of heat that melted the snow at their horse’s hooves. One of the boys, the lad who had been put off by Loki’s ability to start a fire smiled weakly, his lips trembling with the effort.

The three men shared a look between them, and Prince Thodeth asked,

“Is it always this way for the younger boys?”

Loki could only shrug mutely, but Hogun shook his head.

“We switch off each year between who attends. Last winter it was men from the town, the one before that, the outlying villages. There will be more hunts throughout the winter, but this is the only one our Prince is guaranteed to attend.”

As Hogun continued to explain the Winternights hunts to Prince Thodeth, Loki dropped back, taking up a position at the rear. Unlikely as it was that someone would attack this close to the holding, Loki had no wish to tempt the fates. Too often that line of thinking led to a slit throat and an empty purse.

When they reached the stables, it was to find that the knights’ horses had been stripped of their tack and brushed down. Loki’s dismount was stiff, his fingers aching with a cold that had seeped into his very bones. The boys were in no better shape, their hands all but frozen around the reins of their own horses and the pack horse in their charge. No sooner than their feet touched the ground, they were all ushered from the stables to the main house a short distance away, leaving the stablehands to deal with their mounts.

Inside, Prince Thodeth made his way over to the rest of his people, greeted with fresh clothing before being whisked from the room. The knights had already laid out the bedrolls on the thrush-covered floor, and they gathered the squires together, herding them close to the blazing hearths. Loki remained in the shadows, watching as the young boys were stripped of their snow-damp clothing, scrubbed briskly with towels and redressed in the clothes awaiting them. He felt only a moment of true envy before a wall of heat appeared at his back.

There was an ache deep within Loki, a well of guilt that pricked at his heart with a pain more sharp than any needle could incur, and the affection with which Thor looked at him day after day was like a curse. A punishment unwittingly delivered, and Loki had no defense, no means of protecting himself in the face of such care. That he was unworthy of it hung sour in his mouth. Here they were, near a week’s ride from home, within a day’s of Jotunheim’s borders and trapped by a blizzard most like to be of King Laufey’s making. Right then, Loki felt his betrayal should have shone as bright as the snow under the midday sun, and for just a moment, he thought to pull away from Thor. To lay bare his sins and take whatever sentence his actions had brought upon him.

It was Thor who spoke first, caught up as Loki’s tongue was.

“They are well attended, brother, and I thank you for seeing to them after we abandoned you to the cold.” Thor’s words whispered over the back of Loki’s neck, stirring the hairs there. “There is a storm on the horizon. The master of this house has insisted we stay until it passes. When it has, we will continue on our journey, and they will send a messenger to the palace to let father know of our delay.”

As Thor moved away, his grip on Loki’s arm shifted until their fingers were tangled together. He pulled Loki down the dimly lit corridors, their escape made in silence with only the faint echo of their footsteps to give them away. Intent hung heavy around them, thickening the air and Loki could feel his heart beating loud and fast within his chest. The chill that had lingered began to fade, leaving behind a feeling that left him breathless. Loki shied away from examining it too closely, afraid of what he would find.

When they arrived at the room they would share, the last of Thor’s restraint crumbled, and he pinned Loki to the door. His hands were rough as they pushed their way past his damp cloak. His mouth, when it was pressed to Loki’s throat, was scalding, and his teeth sharp as they nipped. Aware of how exposed they were, Loki pushed at Thor’s chest, sending him back a step and earning himself a growl of discontent.

“We will be seen,” Loki said.

“Then let them see. These last few nights have been torture, to be able to touch, but not the way I wished. I would have you now, against this very door.”

“And I would be had in the bed that lies just beyond it, warmed by a hearth and fur not weighted down by a day’s worth of snow.”

Thor scowled, but he moved away nonetheless to wait impatiently as Loki opened the door. The moment it was closed and they were safely away from prying eyes, Thor was upon him once more. His hands were less than gentle as he yanked away the layers separating them, and it was all Loki could do to remain standing under the onslaught. In the place of Thor’s usual generosity was a greed that set Loki’s blood on fire.

They left a trail of clothing as Thor backed Loki over to the bed. When his knees met the edge, Loki fell back, and Thor followed, close to crushing the breath out of Loki. There was a brief struggle in which Loki attempted to reverse their rolls, but Thor was unrelenting, pinning Loki’s arms above his head even as he leaned in to suck a painful mark at the corner of his jaw.

“You are a fool,” Loki snarled. “Think of the risk you take, leaving such a mark.”

Thor laughed, the sound rough. “There are none here who would dare say a word against me should they suspect, and those who would not guess will simply think you took an eager maid to bed.”

As he spoke, Thor worked a hand between them, his grip far from gentle as he took hold of Loki’s cock. He stroked it once, then moved further back, his fingers insistent in their quest. Narrowing his gaze, Loki twisted away from Thor’s touch.

“You would do well to find some oil, _Thor_ , if you think to proceed.”

For just a moment, Thor’s expression was one of aggravated insolence, and Loki went still, prepared to have to fight his way free. Then the edge in Thor’s gaze softened, and when he next brought their mouths together, the kiss was tinged with remorse.

“Forgive me, brother. I was overcome.”

Thor withdrew, and as he crossed the room to where his pack lay against the wall, Loki used the reprieve to move further up the bed. The furs beneath him were soft, and he winced to think of the state they would be in after this night. Thor was not so caring as the oil he poured over his fingers spilled onto the bed. He ignored the mess as he reached for Loki once more, his mouth pressing kisses to the inside of Loki’s thigh.

He breached Loki with two fingers at once, a move that would have been too sudden had Loki not been as desirous as he. They curled, finding with unerring accuracy the spot within Loki that had him arching up, a wretched moan torn from his lips. With a twist, Thor withdrew, then returned with a third finger and he used them to spread Loki open as he wrapped his lips about Loki’s cock. He did not suck, merely let Loki rest upon his tongue, the urgency of only minutes prior no longer apparent.

“Thor,” Loki said, the words forced out from between gritted teeth. “I swear to you—”

“Be still, brother,” Thor whispered. “My want for you has grown with every night that passed when I could not touch. I mean to have you, but as _I_ desire, not you.”

Loki’s fingers clenched tight in the fur beneath him. “Why do you insist upon romancing me? I am not a maid in need of flattering touches.”

“No,” Thor agreed. He moved back up the bed, his fingers still deep within Loki. “No, for a maid would draw out such attentions for as long as possible, certain to have her due at least twice, if not more, before the night was over. And I should think any other man in your position would be content to have his Royal Highness on his knees, but you—” Thor’s head tipped to the side, his gaze inquisitive. “You are a different creature all together. I do not understand you at times, Loki. Are you so afraid of this? Of lo—”

Though it meant their separation was one laced with stinging pain, Loki struck out with his foot and sent Thor tumbling away. Before he could reach the end of the bed, Loki was upon him, one hand firm over Thor’s mouth to stop the torrent of words, the other fumbling for the near empty bottle of oil. There was enough to cover his hand, and he used that to slick Thor’s cock before shifting to straddle Thor’s hips. Loki seated himself in one fluid motion, a slight grimace stealing over his features at the stretch.

“Spare me your pretty words, brother,” Loki said, tone biting. “I have no use for them.”

The pitying look in Thor’s eyes said otherwise, and Loki bared his teeth. He lifted up, holding himself so that only head of Thor’s cock remained inside him, then let himself drop down once more. The oil he had used had been scant, and he felt it then in the way their skin caught and dragged, the promise of pain close. When he made to repeat his actions yet again, Thor stopped him, fingers pressing bruises into the grooves of Loki’s hips.

“Why must it always be a fight with you, brother? Why are you so resistant?”

A laugh, sharp and brittle, bubbled out of Loki even as he attempted to twist free. Thor’s strength could not be bested however, not as determined as he was, and he lifted Loki away, dropping him back to the bed, pinning Loki there with his body.

“Give me this,” Thor said. He dropped a hand between them, laying it not over Loki’s cock, but over his chest. Over his heart. “Let me inside this, brother, and you will not regret it.”

“No. No, I daresay I will not. But you will, Thor. One day—”

Thor’s means of silencing him was not with a hand, but with a kiss. “Let me have you.”

Loki sighed, the last of the fight leaving him. “You do, you fool,” he said.

Thor smiled against his mouth, and this time when he pulled he way, it was to roll Loki over. “Stay like this.”

The bed shifted as he moved, and Loki listened to soft tread of Thor’s footsteps as he crossed the room. He heard the splash of water, and though curiosity had him wanting to turn, he remained as he had been placed, unsure but unafraid.

“Can you heat the water without touching it?”

“Hmm,” Loki replied. He closed his eyes, reaching for the coil of magic always lying in wait and sent it out. When he opened his eyes once more, he saw not the fur beneath him, but the bowl as it looked from Thor’s view. It was a spell he had not used since they were boys, the oddness of it unsettling, but he needed it only long enough to see the basin and the water contained within. He cast a spell to warm it, then blinked his way back into his own body.

“That...was interesting,” Thor said at last. “I had forgotten that trick.” He let the subject drop, leaving the sound of the water sloshing about to fill the room. Then he was back, and a warm cloth was pressed to Loki’s skin.

“If you wished a bath—”

“I would have rung for one. Perhaps tomorrow. If the snow is as plentiful as it looks to be, we could fill the baths in the lower rooms for the men and boys. That is not my purpose now, though.”

Then what is, Loki though to ask, but he had his answer even before he could open his mouth when Thor moved the cloth over his hole, pressing in with gentle fingers. He was careful not to show his discomfort at the breach, but he could tell in the way Thor hummed, low and unhappy, that he was not as successful as he would have liked.

“Thor,” Loki began. He was cut off by a firm hand to the inside of one thigh, and he relented.

“One day, Loki, you will realize that I am not father. My expectations of you are only that you trust me.”

Loki reached down and slipped his fingers into Thor’s hair, giving it a gentle tug. “I do trust you, Thor. More so than any other. But I know my faults, and they are many. Some are not of my own making, but the rest... I fear the day you discover what I am.” The confession was hushed, and when he fell silent once more, Thor repaid him with a kiss to the inside of his knee.

“It is late. Sleep, and in the morning, we will start anew.”

Thor rolled from the bed, naked and splendid, his skin golden in the glow of the firelight. It was not until he reached for his trousers and a shirt that Loki sat up as well.

“Where are you going?” he asked, and he cursed the undercurrent of fear in those words.

Thor sat on the edge of the bed to tug on his boots, then reached out to draw Loki into a brief, heated kiss. “I should check on my men and make certain no one has suffered any illness from the cold. We had anticipated winter, but not the storm. I will return shortly.” He paused, then added, “You may join me if you wish, though it will be much colder outside the room.”

Loki hesitated, then nodded. From Thor’s surprised smile, he surmised his agreement had not been expected. “I am not over fond of knights in general, but I would never dismiss the welfare of our people.”

“I did not think you would,” Thor said, not rising to the bite of Loki’s words.

He waited as Loki donned his clothes one more, holding out a heavy fur cloak once Loki had pulled on his boots. It was not one of their own, the inside lined with a thin linen rather than the soft hide Loki favored, but it was warm enough that when they emerged from their room, the chill of the hallway did not have Loki shivering.

The men in the Great Hall had bunked down for the night, the boys dispersed between them with furs piled high atop their slumbering forms. Loki waited at the door as Thor made his rounds, more than a little envious of the of the easy companionship on display. He had never been a part of any of that, not even during his younger years when he had tried so hard to be just like his brother and his friends. And for all that Loki appeared the contrary, the truth was, he had very much desired that kind of closeness. The only thing that had kept him from feeling completely isolated was Thor’s constant attention. Now, seeing the kinship between not only Thor and his men, but between the each of the knights, he could not help but feel like the outsider he truly was.

As though sensing his thoughts, Thor looked up from where he was whispering with a knight, and the warmth in gaze chased away the chill of Loki’s thoughts. When his brother turned away once more, Loki slipped from the room, retreating to the hallway outside where he stumbled upon Prince Thodeth, his companion conveniently absent.

“Prince Thodeth,” Loki greeted. He was glad to see there was color once more in the prince’s cheeks, and he felt a twinge of sympathy for the other man.

“Prince Loki. I had hoped to catch you alone for moment. My sister wished me to pass along a message to you.”

Loki’s brows rose, and he asked, “Was it something you could not have said the other night?”

“No, though only because she had not given it to me at the time.”

“You can hear each other’s thoughts?” The idea that they could, in fact, pry into his mind had Loki flinching away.

Prince Thodeth shook his head. “It is not a gift we share with many. It is limited to my sister and I, and our two closest companions, a unique skill that has taken the four of us years to master. The bond between myself and Ruaera is a close one, not quite the same as the one you share with your brother, but similar.” He smiled. “Before Prince Thor returns, my sister has asked that I tell you this: It is not too late to choose another path to walk upon.”

There was only one way to interpret the words, and Loki felt a sickening clench in his gut. “How much does she know? Do _you_ know?”

“We can see the darkness within you. The self-doubt, the self-loathing. It has led you far from the light, but as my sister has said, it is not too late to return. Just because you do not see your worth, does not mean that others do not. And though the actions of some may seem cruel and uncaring, it does not mean that that is the intent. Humans are not infallible creatures.” Prince Thodeth reached out to grip Loki’s arm, squeezing. “Should you need anything, anything at all, Prince Loki, do not hesitate to ask.” He withdrew only seconds before Thor emerged from the Great Hall, and he gave a low bow. “I shall you see you in the morning, Your Highnesses. Good night and sleep well.”

Thor’s gaze followed Prince Thodeth’s slow retreat, and when he turned to face Loki, there was concern in his eyes. “Is all well, brother?”

“Well enough, I suppose. It would seem that the elfin prince is not so strange after all, simply different.”

Thor grinned and slung an arm across Loki’s shoulders, pulling him in close. “The same could be said about you, brother. And I am glad to see that you are making friends with our guest.”

“I thought you found him irritating.”

The smile on Thor’s face widened, and he said, “I do, but you and he are similar in many ways. More inclined towards silence and thought. I would not begrudge you his friendship. But enough about Prince Thodeth. The others are all asleep and there is a large, warm bed awaiting us.”

It did not take them long to reach their room, and when they were once more locked away from prying eyes and ears, Thor wasted little time in stripping away Loki’s clothing. Once again, Loki found himself splayed out across the bed, naked beneath Thor’s steady gaze. In contrast, Thor removed only his boots before stretching out beside Loki. With cool fingers, he traced an invisible line down Loki’s chest, feather-light. He repeated the action over Loki’s ribs, down his sides and across his hips. When he was done, he pushed at Loki’s shoulder, urging him to roll over. Loki complied without complaint, and stretched into a careless sprawl that left him exposed to his brother’s gaze. When Thor’s fingers skimmed over the small of Loki’s back, he shivered, his skin prickling.

“I could spend all day looking at you,” Thor said into the quiet.

Loki arched one eyebrow, amused by the quiet declaration. “You do not need to soften me up with pretty words, brother.”

Thor looked up at him, a hundred thoughts drifting through his eyes. “No, but I need my fingers,” he replied.

As he spoke, he slipped a hand down between Loki’s thighs and touched him with oil-slick fingers, though Loki had not seen him retrieve the bottle. A single finger breached him, pressing in deep to find the spot that had Loki's spine bending upwards and his hands twisting in the furs beneath him.

“And perhaps my mouth,” Thor murmured.

Loki opened his mouth to point out that what he said was unnecessary, but before he could speak, Thor’s mouth was on him, his tongue hot as it slid over Loki’s hole. It made sense now, the care with which Thor had cleaned him earlier, but the bold move was no less shocking. It was not an act he would have suggested, nor was it something he had ever been on the receiving—or giving—end of, but he had heard of it, had had it lewdly described to him by drunken stablehands when he was just discovering his sexuality. 

“Thor,” Loki whispered.

“There is no part of you I would not have, brother, and no part of you that I would change.”

It was on the tip of Loki’s tongue to say, _you cannot know that_ , but Thor chose that moment to sink his teeth into the meat of Loki’s arse, biting hard enough to leave a mark. He followed it up with a soothing kiss, then moved back down. Thor used his fingers to hold Loki open as his tongue speared inward, and though he lacked finesse, he more than made up for it in enthusiasm. It was all Loki could do not to cry out, unwilling to give so much of himself away until Thor said,

“Let go, brother, and give this to me. Let me take care of you.”

It was terrifying, how easy it was to obey Thor’s request, for Loki to let himself go. He shook apart to the feel of Thor’s fingers inside him and another hand holding him down, grounding him. As his body shook through the aftermath of his orgasm, Loki blinked unfocused eyes. He stifled a wince as Thor carefully withdrew his fingers and waited for the inevitable press of Thor’s cock to his entrance, only to frown when it never came. He could feel the hot length of Thor, knew he had yet to come, but when Loki reached for him, Thor stilled his hand.

“I can wait,” Thor said. His voice was deep and rough with want, but his tone sincere.

Loki huffed, and shook his head. “I am not some delicate maiden—” he began, but Thor hushed him with a biting kiss.

“I do not know why you always assume any kindness I show you is an implication I think you a maiden. To be a woman would not make you weak, brother. Sif would be insulted, were she to hear you.”

Turning onto his back, Loki replied, “I will not break if you are rough with me.”

“And because we are both men, what happens between us cannot be gentle?” Thor appeared genuinely confused.

Loki lost his temper at that. “Stop trying to woo me, damn you!” he shouted. As soon as the words left his mouth, he sagged back against the pillows, exhausted.

“That,” Thor said, “is not a request I intend to grant. But know that when I am gentle with you, it is because you deserve some gentleness in your life, regardless of what you may think. And one day, I will discover who it is that has led you to believe you deserve any less, and I will kill him.”

The promise, for that was exactly what it was, tore a bitter laugh from Loki. Thor looked sad, but he said nothing as he rearranged them on the bed, pulling Loki into the curve of his body and holding him there. When he did not break the silence again, Loki conceded to the exhaustion of his body, drifting off into a troubled sleep.

**. . .**

The storm that had been brewing for the last few weeks swept in some time in the middle of the night, and by the time Loki woke, a heavy blanket of snow had built up. He could hear it whispering against the window panes, and he shivered at the mere idea of leaving the bed, let alone venturing out of the room. Behind him, Thor stirred, tightening his grip on Loki’s waist as he brushed a kiss to the back of Loki’s neck.

“Good morning,” Thor said around a yawn. He shifted so that his hand was splayed low over Loki’s belly, flexing his fingers before inching them down.

Loki bit back a groan as Thor’s hand curled around him, his head too filled with the dregs of sleep to fight off the touch. When Thor urged him to roll over onto his stomach, he did so without complaint, settling down with his head on a pillow. The sweet scent of the almond oil reached his nose seconds before slick fingers breach him, and this time, Loki needed no coaxing to let himself be heard. He was conscious of the thin walls, but he did not fight the sounds that spilled out of him as Thor worked him open.

When Thor seemed certain that Loki was stretched, he nudged Loki’s legs further apart and slid between them. Loki braced himself for the initial burn of penetration, and nearly laughed when he felt Thor’s teeth at his shoulder, worrying the skin there. The brush of his beard tickled, and Loki knew the moment his brother realized this, for Thor dragged his face across the back of Loki’s neck.

“You shall ruin the mood if you keep this up.”

“And what mood would that be, brother?” Thor inquired. He rolled his hips forward, nudging in a little deeper, and Loki gasped into his pillow. “Are we not allowed to laugh when we are having sex? How terribly boring, Loki.”

Thor’s movements were stifled by their closeness, his thrusts hard but shallow. For all that Loki ached to have Thor fuck him properly, though, his brother seemed content. He refused to be pushed into moving any faster, even when Loki growled out his name.

“What is your rush? We have all morning. No one here would dare interrupt us, and it is clear there will be no travel for at least three days. When we are home, our time is always so limited.”

It was impossible to argue his logic, so Loki relented. His ungratefully muttered ‘fine’ was rewarded with a wet kiss to his back, then Thor was rearranging them once more. Thor nearly slipped out twice as he resettled them onto their sides, but it was worth it when he pulled Loki’s leg up and back. His strokes became deeper, bruising in their force, and Loki slid a hand over his stomach certain he would be able to feel Thor there. He could not, to his great disappointment, but the placement of his hand was such that it intensified the thrum of pleasure flooding his system, and he felt his whole body flush as his release began to build.

“What does it feel like?” Thor asked. He covered Loki’s hand with his own, increasing the pressure until Loki was certain he _could_ feel Thor inside him. The thought had Loki clenching, and Thor swore at as he stilled his hips. “I take it you find it pleasing,” he said at last.

“Well enough to suit my needs,” Loki agreed. He meant the words to sound careless, but his tone belied him, wavering halfway through.

Thor grunted into his shoulder. “Good. Perhaps this shall work just as well.”

Without any further warning, Thor withdrew and tipped Loki all the way onto his back. When he pushed back in, it was with a groaning sigh that Loki could feel. Thor was slow to return to anything resembling a rhythm after that, his mouth working hard at the patch of skin caught between his lips, his hand on Loki’s hip bruising. Each thrust had enough force behind it to send Loki inching up the bed until he was forced to brace his arms against the wooden frame or risk striking his head.

“You are like a child at play, brother,” Loki taunted. “Always proclaiming to be a grownup, but never quite able to convince anyone. Even now, you fuck like a boy during his first rut, all enthusiasm and no grace.”

The words did as he hoped, spurning Thor to shift once more. He pulled Loki until he was resting half in Thor’s lap, then gave a vicious snap of his hips.

“You are a menace,” Thor snarled, but there was warmth in his eyes and humor in his tone. “I would take my time with you, and in return, you goad me.”

Loki shook his head, embarrassed by the fond smile he felt tugging at his lips. “Because you allow me to, you fool.”

Thor’s gaze darkened, and his eyes narrowed. He slowed his pace once more and said, “Perhaps if I gagged you I could curb that tongue of yours.”

A shiver raced up Loki’s spine, and he had to turn away to hide the want he knew was burning in his gaze. He gave no verbal reply, but Thor did not seem to need one, not when Loki’s body was so willing to betray him.

“Next time, maybe,” Thor murmured. “And if you are _very_ good, dear brother, I might be inclined to let you come when I do.”

Done with words, Thor closed the gap between their mouths. He drew the kiss out, matched the thrust of his tongue to that of his hips, and when he pulled away once more, it was to grin down at Loki, smug and happy all at once.

When Loki came, it was an afterthought to watching the expressions that flitted over Thor’s features, a slow spillover of his own emotions that left Loki aching and tired. Thor’s smiled melted away into something soft and affectionate, and he bowed his head to nip at the line of Loki’s jaw as he went still. There were only the slightest of tremors as he came, and when he was done, he pulled out and lowered himself gently to rest half on top of Loki.

“When we wake again, I intend to take my time with you, your mouth be damned. When I am done with you, brother, it will be a miracle if you are still able to speak, let alone tease.”

“Big words,” Loki countered, but he was too tired to say more. He drifted off to the feel of Thor’s hands sliding over his body and a damp cloth cleaning him.

Loki roused himself again to find the bed empty and no sign of Thor. On the table was a platter of food, and after relieving himself and donning several layers of clothing, Loki took a seat at the table and dug in. He was ravenous, and it was clear Thor had already eaten, so Loki did not hesitate to pick out his favorites, devouring those first. When he was full, he pushed away with a groan, gathered up his now-dry fur cloak and a pair of gloves, then went in search of his brother.

He found Thor in the Great Hall, all the sleeping bags cleared away to make room for hand-to-hand combat. Loki paused just inside the door and watched as the older knights taught the younger boys how to take a fall, to use their opponents momentum against them and how, more importantly, to simply run when they were outmatched. It was Volstagg who caught sight of Loki first, and he raised his voice to include Loki in his next short speech.

“If all else fails, lads, look to your young prince. Prince Loki has a fair few talents himself, many of which will catch your enemies unaware. Find him, and you will be protected, on that you have my word.”

It was the most generous thing he had said of Loki’s magic to date, and it caught him off-guard. Unsure of what to say, Loki settled for nodding.

Volstagg turned away then, and pointed at the youngest boy in his group. “You lad, show me what you can do with that blade of yours!”

The rest of the afternoon passed that way, with Loki a quiet observer to the knights’ drills, his occasional companion Prince Thodeth. At supper, the groups broke apart, the older men sitting together around the outside of the large room, while Loki joined the boys close to the fire, passing the time with stories of past hunts and great battles. He departed only when Thor pulled him away, and fell into bed and into sleep, only to rise with the blotted out sun and start all over again.

By the third day, the storm had passed, and on the forth, enough of the snow had begun to melt that the group ventured outside. Thor, Hogun, Fandral and Volstagg took the knights across the way to one of the empty barns, their long strides leaving a trench in the snow. Loki had half a mind to remain indoors where it was at least passably warm, but a glance at the restless boys—left in Loki's care at his own insistence—changed his mind.

With Prince Thodeth and several of his hunters at his side, Loki took the boys to one of the clearings and divided them into two teams. It was one of the few fond memories Loki had of his childhood; a battlefield of snow and the only defense that which nature provided. He grinned as his troubles fell away, and with a battle cry worthy of any Asgardian warrior, launched the first ball of hard-packed snow through the air at one of the older boys.

They stayed outside well past lunch, joined midday by the knights. Thor passed him with a wink, his hands already full, and Loki declared a full retreat behind the wall they had built.

“All right, comrades, this is it: our battle has become a war. But not all is lost, for I know our enemy well. Now, who are our smallest soldiers?” Loki waved the youngest two closer. “Good. My brother has a soft heart for children. Show me your best sad faces.”

The two boys exchanged knowing smiles. While one produced a very fine pout, his friend did him one better, adding a single tear and a quivering chin. Loki nodded at each of his team mates in turn, including the knights with a sly smile.

“Those are your greatest weapons, boys. Wield them not until just before we move to take our opponents’ king. The rest of you, we will need as many cannonballs as your hands can craft. Quickly now.

They split up shortly after that, two knights to every boy, keeping them not only shielded from the worst attacks, but also making certain none wandered too far or got caught in the drifts. Thor’s team made a valiant effort, but in the end, Loki’s brother was taken down by a bawling child and an over-zealous knight.

Hands frozen to the point of numbness, the group marched inside where Prince Thodeth and his people had retreated some hours earlier, their arms heavy with fresh furs warmed by the fires. As Loki shook the last of the snow from his hair, Thor moved close to his side.

“I have not seen you smile this much since you were just learning to walk.”

Loki faltered, and glanced up. “Oh?”

“It is good to see you enjoy yourself. I had thought perhaps you had forgotten how.” Unmindful of any watching eyes, Thor slid a hand over the back of Loki’s neck and drew him close enough to touch their foreheads together. “I should like to see you smile like this always.” The kiss Thor pressed to Loki’s lips was lightning quick, then he pulled away and straightened. “Now hurry out of your wet clothes. I smell dinner, and I should like not to be left with only scraps.”

After everyone had eaten their fill and the tables and benches were cleared away, Loki helped the men lay out sleeping rolls. The knights retired to the back of the room to speak amongst themselves, leaving the boys to gather around close to the fire. Despite the relative warmth of the room, a few were seen shivering, and Loki laid an invisible blanket of warmth over their shoulders. Thor sat with his friends, but for once, Loki did not feel neglected. He understood now, all the directions in which his brother was pulled, and he marveled at just how much of Thor’s attention Loki had been able to claim over the years.

One of the boys stretched, covering a yawn before lying down on a pile of furs. There was a slight scuffle as bedding was fought over, but once the boys had settled down, Loki found himself offering a few tricks to help pass the last hour before sleep. He showed them dragons and minotaurs, the night sky as it had looked during midsummer. When he was done, the children were asleep and the familiar chill was creeping through his veins. He shivered once, hard, then again. Acknowledging the cold was a mistake, for after that, he could not stop, even when Prince Thodeth, who had come to sit beside him some time during Loki’s magical display, laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Loki, what is wrong?” Prince Thodeth sucked in a sharp breath when he reached to tip Loki’s face toward the fire light. “Dear gods, your skin has gone _blue_.”

“It is nothing” Loki replied, or at least attempted to say. His tongue felt too thick for his mouth, the words slurred even to his own ears.

Hands steadied him as Loki began to slump, and he heard Prince Thodeth call out, voice frantic,

“Prince Thor! Your brother.”

He was unconscious before he could hear the response.

**. . .**

Loki woke in increments, the sound of his brother’s voice and the feel of his hands fading in and out. He felt stiff, but not cold, and when he parted chapped lips, a cup was already there, tipping a slow trickle of water into his mouth.

“Sometimes, brother, you infuriate me with your thoughtlessness toward your own well-being. Always, you confound me.”

“I shall strive to do better, once I am sound of mind.”

Thor laughed. “So then never. Go back to sleep, Loki. It is early morning yet and the men have already been seen to for now. They are indulging in the house baths as this will be their last chance for some weeks. Tomorrow we head out.”

“I am sorry, if I have ruined your plans for the day.” Loki made to sit up, but the hand pressed to his chest was firm, and he gave up after only a brief struggle.

“My plans were to spend the day with you, which I am. It makes no difference to me if you are awake or asleep, for you are here either way.”

“And you are a romantic, a dying breed. Wake me in an hour.”

“Of course,” Thor relented.

Loki could hear the lie in his words, but there was little he could do about it just then. His last thought as he slipped into sleep was that when they returned to the palace, he would have to set to rights all that he had done wrong. He would put an end to Kotkel’s demands, by whatever means necessary, and hopefully Thor would never have to learn of Loki’s deception.


	10. Chapter 10

Loki had disliked Kotkel the moment they met, but at the time, he had been a means to an end. Now, Loki regretted agreeing to have the thief involved. There was little need for it, as Loki had remained firm in that he was the only person allowed inside the castle. At best, Kotkel was a guarantee that the artifacts would make it not just outside the city walls, but past the border as well. Their interactions were limited to the occasional nod, but Aakon had been the one with whom Loki spoke and arranged meetings. More importantly, Aakon had been smart enough not to push for more than Loki was willing to give, unlike Kotkel.

“There is little else my king wishes retrieved from filthy Asgardian hands than that of his true heir,” Kotkel said once more. 

This was their third meeting since Aakon’s demise, and with every passing second that Loki remained in his presence, his patience wore thin and strained. They were short on time as it was; Loki had spied Lady Sif in the crowd, and he knew that if he was not careful, his cover would be blown. To be exposed now, just as he was hoping to put an end to the entire charade, would be bad enough, but to have Lady Sif be the one to catch was a thought that left him alternating between sick and furious. He understood the gravity of what he had done. He did not need _Lady Sif_ dragging him before Odin, declaring Loki a traitor to Asgard.

“And as _I_ have said before, that is impossible. I am not so easily concealed, and there is not a single man, woman or child in this land who does not know my face.”

Kotkel shoved away from the table on which he had been perched. Loki did not retreat, even when his wrist was caught in a bruising grip. With a snarl, Kotkel said, “Or perhaps it is that you do not _wish_ to leave.”

Eyes narrowed, Loki stepped forward, effectively trapping Kotkel between himself and the table. If the other man was concerned, he did not show it. Loki was careful to keep his tone even and his expression bland as he said,

“Perhaps you are right. I am comfortable here. More than that, I have no desire to live in a land of endless winter. Your king is a tyrant and I have allowed your trespass for my amusement only. Continue to try my patience, Jötunn, and I will see your neck in the noose.”

In a bold move, Kotkel spat and it landed on Loki’s shoulder to drip down the front of his leather jacket. He spared it a glance, lips curling back with disgust, before meeting Kotkel’s gaze once more. This time, Loki did not conceal his fury, and he was viciously pleased at the way Kotkel’s eyes widened in surprise. Though it was clear he understood what was about to happen, he was too slow in responding to get away. Before he could even open his mouth, Loki slid his dagger up between Kotkel’s ribs, his other hand coming up to cover Kotkel’s mouth. 

Loki watched the life bleed out of him, felt the way his body went limp, still held in place by the table and the press of Loki’s hips. Revulsion was fast on the heels of triumph, and with a low noise of displeasure, Loki stepped back, allowing the body to drop to the floor. He wavered once, reached out to grab the back of a chair as his knees went weak for a moment. It was only when Loki looked down at his hand that he realized there was blood staining the cuff of his jacket.

His hands were shaking as he backed away, but he knew he could not flee. Left unattended, the body would merely be disposed of, and Loki did not want that. The whole point was to send Laufey a message: there were no friends of Jotunheim in Asgard. His initial plan had been to send Kotkel back to his king to relay the message himself, in whatever words he so desired. Now, Loki would be forced to send back a body and hope that the intent was understood.

It was not easy to block out the smell of blood, or the undeniable pallor of Kotkel’s face, but somehow, Loki managed to do so nonetheless. He checked the body, finding and removing four separate purses, only one of which he knew to belong to the thief. The other three bore the markings of noblemen just recently robbed on their way to the palace. The purses, Loki realized, were the key to maintaining his innocence. 

He had just finished formulating and executing the first stages of his new plan when the door to the room burst open to reveal Lady Sif, flagged by two other guardsmen. Arranging his features into something more resembling concern, Loki stood from where he had been kneeling beside Kotkel’s body, and allowed relief to bleed into his voice as he spoke.

“Thank goodness,” he said.

Lady Sif’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, her gaze moving between the body and Loki. “Who is that?” she asked at last.

Loki spared Kotkel a glance. “A thief. He attempted to steal my purse when I was in town. I followed him here, thinking I could stop him from during further harm.”

“It would seem you succeeded.”

“It was not the way I intended it go,” Loki admitted.

A guardsman stepped forward, and Loki directed him toward the three purses. 

“I found those on his person, as well as one that I believe is his own. When he realized who I was, he suggested holding me for ransom. I disagreed. Pointedly.” At that, Loki let slip a smile, small and cold. “I was going to call for a servant to fetch someone from the castle.”

“And then?” Lady Sif moved closer to Loki. When the guardsman showed her the marks on the purses, she nodded. 

“And then I was going to have his body delivered back to his king.”

They both stared down at Kotkel then, at the pale blue hue of his skin that had less to do with death and more to do with his bloodline. 

“Jötunn.” She spat the word, and for just a second, Loki thought she might kick the body.

“Yes. It is hardly a secret that father and I do not see eye to eye. The thief offered to let me keep a small portion of my ransom.” He snorted. “Disagreeable relationship with my father or not, I am still a prince. I have little need for a ransom.”

Doubt lingered in Lady Sif’s eyes, but she did not speak aloud her concerns. Instead, she said, “I agree, odd as that may seem. And what message would you have sent with his body?”

“Only that there are no friends of Jotunheim in this kingdom,” Loki replied. It was risky, to phrase it so, but Lady Sif only nodded in agreement. At long last, her gaze moved to Loki’s wrist and the bruise there. He was glad then that he had not dislodged Kotkel’s hand too soon. Without knowing it, the thief had given Loki just enough evidence to prove his innocence, real though it was not.

“And he did not hurt you otherwise?”

He shook his head. “He did not. I thought to use magic, but given what he is—was…”

“A wise choice,” she agreed. “Guardsman Arickson will escort you back to the castle, lest there are others who think it wise to follow in this man’s footsteps. I will see that the body is delivered across the border and your message relayed.”

Loki allowed himself to be led out, the guardsman’s hand firm where it gripped his elbow. It felt both stifling and reassuring at once, and it gave Loki a few moments to gather his thoughts. There was little doubt in his mind that Lady Sif suspected at least some small part of his story, though Loki had made certain the evidence lay in his favor. His father would be another story altogether. Once the heritage of the dead thief was revealed, Odin would see through Loki’s carefully crafted ruse.

By the time they reached the castle, Loki’s nerves were frayed. The guardsman did not relinquish his hold on Loki until they were through the main doors, and then it was only because Thor was there, brows drawn together in a worried frown.

“What has happened?” he demanded, falling into step beside Loki.

“There was an incident. In the lower part of the city. A man… he thought to take me for ransom.”

Thor’s features hardened, but before he could make a reply to that, Loki put a hand on his arm, squeezing.

“You have trained me well, brother. He is dead, and Lady Sif has stated she will see to the rest.”

They both startled when another voice asked, “And what ‘rest’ is there that must be seen to, Loki?” Odin’s eyes were dark and his mouth a tight, angry line.

Dropping his voice, Loki stepped close to his brother. “We shall talk more later. For now, I must speak with father alone.”

Thor nodded, his gaze wandering over Loki’s face, taking in every nuance. “I will have a bath waiting. You were a fool to go out in such weather with only a jacket. Where is your fur cloak?” Then he shook his head. “Never mind. Speak with father and I shall see you shortly.”

Loki did not move from where he stood until Thor was climbing the stairs towards their rooms, then he turned to face Odin.

“Father,” he said, mindful of his tone. 

Odin’s gaze moved over the crowd gathering, and he beckoned with one gloved hand for Loki to follow him. They walked in silence, retreating into the relative privacy of throne room. With a sharp nod of his head, Odin dismissed the few guards lingering there, and then the door closed, sealing them away from prying eyes and ears.

“Now, explain to me what transpired in the lower city.”

It was best, Loki knew, to remain as close to the truth as possible. With that in mind, he said, “I met a man there, a thief from Jotunheim. We had spoken before, but until today, he has always remained…civil. I wanted information on the Jötunns and their king, information I could not get here, in return for which I offered him coin. He became greedy and demanded more that I was willing to give. In a fit of anger, he thought to threaten me. I retaliated. With my dagger.”

The silence that followed his narration was unsettling. Odin continued to stare at him, arms crossed over his chest. When he reached out to take hold of Loki’s shoulder, Loki flinched, and something dark and unhappy passed over Odin’s features, thinning them out. His voice, when he spoke, was soft; so unfamiliar in its gentleness that Loki’s knees nearly buckled in the face of it.

“Curiosity is a dangerous thing, my boy, but it is also quite natural. I am sorry that you were betrayed, but our feud with Jotunheim dates all the way back to the great rift. There are few within Her borders who would not leap at the chance to do harm to any of our people, even more so one of Asgard’s princes. Your dagger?”

“I—” Loki stared down at his hand, for the first time noticing that it was no longer there. “I believe I left it at the inn.”

“Sif will see that it is cleaned and returned to you. For now, you may return to your rooms and assure your brother that you are unharmed. If you are out of salve for your bruise, send a page for some.”

With that, Odin turned away, dismissing him. Loki made it as far as the hallway outside the throne room before his knees gave way, and he slid to the ground, ashamed but unable to remain standing. He could not remember the last time Odin had looked at him thus, could not recall ever being the target of Odin’s care, and it burned him straight to the core that it should happen now, the result of hundreds of lies piled together. 

It took him several long minutes to stagger to his feet once more, and then it was all he could do just to make it to his room. Loki had no sooner opened the door than Thor was there, his hands gentle as they guided him inside and over to the edge of his bed. 

“Is all well, brother?”

Loki laughed, brittle and lacking all humor. “Well enough. For once, father is not furious with me and I am finding it hard to figure out just how to deal with that.”

“Then, Loki, for once just accept a moment in which you may be happy and do not look for any bad.” Thor moved away, returning with a bowl of water and a cloth. His touch was soft as he washed the blood from Loki’s skin, and when he reached the bruise, he made a low, hurt sound. “The man you spoke of, he did this to you?”

“That, with the desire to do more.” At Thor’s sharp look, Loki shrugged. "I gave him no chance, brother. As I said before, you have taught me well, and though I take no pleasure in ending another man's life, I have even less desire to see my own ended so abruptly.”

“They are the worst sort.”

Loki shook his head. “That is not what you thought during the Midsummer celebration. You cannot have it both ways, Thor. You cannot despise them all year and then seek pleasure in their company for two nights. Love them, bad and good, for who they are.” Loki was not blind to the true meaning behind his words, and hoped that Thor would remember them later.

Thor raised Loki’s wrist to his lips, brushing a kiss far more tender than Loki felt necessary to the purpling skin. “Asgard is lucky to have you as Her prince, brother,” Thor said. He stood then, crossing the room to where a stack of clothing lay on the hearth. It took Loki a moment to realize they were Thor’s clothes, and then longer to understand what Thor meant to do with the shirt he was holding.

“It is early still,” Loki argued, even as he raised his hands to allow Thor to undress him. Firm hands at his elbows had Loki rising long enough for his boots and trousers to be removed, then he was seated once more. The shirt Thor slipped over his head was warm against his skin and smelled of rosewater and Thor, the scent comforting.

"Perhaps, but it is clear you are shaken. Come to bed and finish telling me happened to you.”

Loki did, his voice deliberately detached as he recalled the menace in Kotkel’s gaze. When his tale wound down, he glanced over at Thor to see him all but vibrating with rage.

“If he were not already dead, I would kill him and send him back to his Jötunn king piece by piece so that my displeasure would not go unnoticed.”

“Thankfully, we can leave off with your rather gruesome punishment. I took care of the problem myself, brother. I am not as defenseless as you seem to think.”

Thor shook his head, his anger still visible, but muted. “I do not think you helpless, brother. I, better than anyone else, know just how capable you are, whether your weapon is your tongue, magic or a blade. It is the knowledge that you were required to defend yourself at all that upsets me.” 

The distance that had remained between them during Loki’s recounting was closed as Thor finally reached for him, dragging Loki close. Unlike all their previous encounters, Thor’s hands were not gentle as they roamed over Loki’s skin, and the finger that breached him was dry and unforgiving. When Loki looked up into Thor’s eyes, it was to see the kind of quiet fury Thor wore when threats were made against the kingdom, and Loki shivered to think that that was for him.

“The oil, Thor,” Loki whispered.

Thor grunted, but he withdrew his finger long enough to reach for the small vial on the bedside table. He coated his fingers, then pressed two back inside, twisting them as he covered Loki’s mouth with his own. There was an urgency to his actions that would not be denied, and it was all Loki could do just to breathe through the introduction of a third finger. The fourth had his nerves stretched thin, and he struck out his fist, shoving hard at Thor’s shoulder.

“Enough. You will not break me, brother.”

His words earned him a soft, pained sound from Thor. Then the fingers were gone and Thor was pushing his way inside, splitting Loki open as he filled him in small increments.

“I would slay every Jötunn if meant protecting you from men such as he,” Thor swore. 

He pressed his face into the curve of Loki’s neck and dragged his cheek up. Loki’s skin went hot, and he knew that when he checked in the mirror later, there would be a rash spread all over where Thor’s beard had burned him. As it was, the possessive streak that Loki found irritating under normal circumstance soothed the tension that had been building up inside him since the confrontation. He shivered and pressed closer to Thor.

“An entire realm need not suffer for the mistake of one man,” Loki replied, thoughts of himself foremost as he spoke.

Thor surged up, driving himself deeper into Loki, and he fisted a hand in Loki’s hair to hold him in place. “That depends upon the man and the mistake. Had he hurt you and lived, not all the magic in Jotunheim or its allies could have stopped me from seeking retribution.” He emphasised his words with a sharp thrust of his hips, and Loki came terrifyingly close to confessing his sins and begging forgiveness right then.

“Thor,” he said, then stopped. 

One of Thor’s arms slid beneath him, tilting Loki’s hips up. The muscles in his arms bulged, tremendous and intimidating, and the expression on his face was so ferocious Loki would have pulled away were he given any quarter. Something akin to panic began to fill him, and it was only then that Thor seemed to realize how violent his actions were becoming. He loosened his hold, pressing a kiss to the corner of Loki’s eye, and slowed his hips to a gentle roll.

“You are the most contrary person I know. First you tell me you are not easily breakable, and then when I do not hold back, fear that I would hurt you.”

Loki narrowed his eyes, tone sharp as he snapped, “I am not afraid, you great—” He was cut off, Thor’s mouth hard and demanding against his own.

“You were saying?” Thor asked.

“Ass,” Loki muttered under his breath.

Thor’s next thrust was deep, but managed to only graze over the sensitive spot inside Loki, a punishment for his slight, no doubt. Loki would have complained at the neglect toward his person, but Thor chose that moment to pull out completely, rolling away and onto his back. His cock was flushed dark, the head peeking through the foreskin, but he seemed unworried about the state of his sex. 

“What the devil are you doing?” Loki demanded.

Thor glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips. “I should think it obvious to someone of your intellect brother. You are so determined to dictate my every action; I see no other choice but to let you take the lead.”

“And perhaps I have grown tired of being fucked?” His crude wording was deliberate, an attempt to unsettle his brother.

Thor only smiled at him, fond and amused, as though he was privy to some great secret. “If it is your wish, brother, you know that I would gladly change places with you.”

It was on the tip of Loki’s tongue to demand just that, but he knew that that was not what he wanted. His previous dalliances had been satisfying enough, but he was not so foolish as to lie to himself about what he wanted from Thor. Conceding defeat, he rolled to his side and shifted his weight enough so that he did not over balance when he moved to straddle Thor’s hips. The hands that came up to bracket his waist were neither stifling nor controlling, and so he did not shake them off, but he pinned his brother with a warning glance all the same. 

There was enough oil left on Thor’s cock that it did not drag as Loki lowered himself down, but the stretch was more intense, the change in position adding a depth Thor had lacked before. Loki groaned into it, eyes falling shut beneath his brother’s weighted stare. It took Loki only a moment to adjust, and then he was rising up at a slow, torturous pace. On his descent, Thor’s fingers flexed, ready to offer whatever assistance deemed necessary. The burn in his thighs had Loki relenting, and he braced his hands against Thor’s chest as need took over.

“I will never understand why you have chosen me to see you like this when you could have anyone else,” Thor whispered, reverent and almost sad. 

Loki blinked down at him, his mouth open as he panted for breath. It took him two attempts to find his voice, but when he did, he asked, “Can you not? When you have been everything to me from the moment I first laid eyes upon you? There is no one else I trust as I do you, brother, no one else I would allow to see me so.” 

He had not meant to say the words, but right then, as he watched Thor’s expression go from dark hunger to stunned pleasure, he could not find it in himself to regret them. For all that Loki gave very little of himself, Thor was not so reserved, and Loki knew that at the very least, he owed his brother this much: the truth.

Thor’s response was to shove up with his hips, the force of his thrust almost enough to unseat Loki. His grip went from careful to biting, and he grit his teeth as his head tipped back. Loki watched as every muscle in his brother’s body coiled and bunch, watched as Thor came with a full-body shudder. Loki’s orgasm followed close behind Thor’s, brought on by nothing more than the raw openness in his brother’s face.

Loki slumped forward, his weight settling over Thor like a blanket, and he murmured into the quiet surrounding them, “I cannot promise I will say it often, brother, but I love you more than anything in this world and the next. Whatever wrong I may do you, know that hurting you has never been, nor ever will be, my intent.”

There was no verbal response from Thor, but the arms wrapped about Loki’s waist tightened, and the heart beneath his ear beat louder and stronger. Exhaustion came then, strong and fast, and Loki found himself falling asleep even as Thor slipped free of his body. He had only a vague awareness of his body being rearranged beside Thor’s and of fingers carding through his hair as he drifted off to sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

The sun had long since set when Loki woke, the fire in the hearth having died down earlier in the evening. The embers gave off a faint glow, casting an eerie light in the immediate area, but the rest of the room was shrouded in darkness. He shivered as he sat up, Thor’s arm falling, heavy and limp, into his lap. Though Loki wanted nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep, he felt overcome by restlessness. He remained abed for a few minutes longer, until he could bear it no longer. There was an itch brewing just beneath his skin, and he yearned for his violin, knowing that the cool grain of the wood and the steady thrum of the strings would help ground the turbulent emotions flooding through him.

His body ached as Loki stood, a welcome suggestion of pain, and he donned Thor’s robe, pulling it tight around his body. A quick glance in the hall showed only the guards, and Loki slipped from Thor’s room to head for his own. He had no sooner shut the door when a knock came, and Loki pulled it open with a scowl firmly in place. It was Delling, but before Loki could send the boy away, he was slipping inside the room, his eyes dark with fright.

“Prince Loki, a maid is with your father, and she speaks of treason by your hand.”

Loki could feel the blood drain from his face, and he swayed in place for a moment before waving the boy toward his chair.

“It is true, though I doubt she tells of the whole matter. It is not—I would not betray my people—I would not betray _Thor_.”

“I know.” There was such conviction in Delling’s voice that Loki felt both relieved and terrified at once. “King Odin does not know that I have come for you. Will he have you arrested?”

Had the perpetrator been anyone else, Odin would have had them dragged from their beds by the guards. As a Prince of Asgard, Loki could assume his father would have him sent for privately, the details of their meeting kept secret.

“No, but it would be best if I met him now, rather than wait for him to come to me.” Loki dropped into a crouch, his grip on Delling’s shoulders firm but gentle. “Listen to me carefully: I would have you return to your room, but I fear that if anyone saw you outside the throne room, they would cause trouble for you. Remain here, and should you hear anyone knock, you are to hide beneath the bed in the room just there.” Loki nodded in the direction of the unused room that had been set aside for a manservant. “It is not a large space, and so I doubt anyone would think to look for you there. I will find you when I return, and I will see that you are not punished. All right?”

Delling nodded and scuttled off in the direction of the room. Alone with his thoughts, Loki began pulling clothes out of his wardrobe, laying out the most formidable outfit he owned. It would not do to appear before Odin in anything less, and Loki would need every bit of courage he could find to face Asgard’s king. When he deemed himself ready, Loki swept from the room, bypassing Thor’s door without a glance back. He knew his resolve would weaken should he venture inside, and he brought up the memory of Thor’s breath stuttering out of his chest as Loki confessed his feelings for the first time.

There were no servants in the hallways, but in the corridor leading to the throne room, Loki caught sight of a maid headed toward the stairs to the kitchen. It was only a brief glance, but it was enough to confirm his suspicions. The woman in question had been the very same maid he had startled twice on his return from the city, though he dismissed her from thought just as quickly. He wondered if she had followed him at some point. Loki prided himself on being aware of his surroundings, but as a maid, she was more oft than not overlooked not only by Loki, but everyone else.

He stopped just outside the heavy doors to brush trembling hands over the front of his jacket. Taking a deep breath, Loki pushed open the doors and froze, gaze locked with Odin’s own furious one.

“Fa—father.” The word felt dry and rough on his tongue, like unfinished wood.

“Close the door, Loki. I should think you would not like witnesses for what I am going to say.”

Loki nodded and shut the door with a thud that reverberated throughout the room. He clenched one hand into a fist as he stepped up toward the dais, his nails cutting into the meat of his palm. The pain was just sharp enough to ground him, and when he took his next breath, he did not have the immediate urge to revisit his most recent meal.

“I will not ask how you know, and I do not want to hear your excuses. You have betrayed our people and given to King Laufey some of the most dangerous weapons ever created. The lives of thousands now rest upon his mercy, should he use any of them.”

“I would never!” Loki blurted. His stomach clenched, but he forced himself to explain. “He received only five items in total, three of which I stripped of all magic, one had lost its magic long ago, and the last…”

“The last?” Odin demanded when Loki wavered.

“The last was a replica created by me. The ring. It—I spelled the replica so that the magic would work only twice. The first time was on the original spy from Jotunheim.”

Odin’s eyes narrowed, his face a mask of grim determination. “And the other victim?”

“If there was a second, he or she was not of Asgardian blood. More so, had the thief used the ring on another before taking it to Laufey, my deceit would have been discovered and revenge exacted for it would have arrived devoid of any magic. I do not doubt the thief was extremely cautious in handling it as the ring is foretold to strip any and all magic from its victims.”

“You play a dangerous game, and you are losing. A message was received not long ago. Laufey has demanded a meeting in light of Jötunn blood spilled in Asgard.”

“He cannot have found out so soon!”

“He can and he has!” Odin lunged to his feet, fury twisting his features. “You have given him the very means of breaking our truce, and it will be left to me to see what can be salvaged.”

Though he stumbled back at the initial threat of Odin lashing out physically, Loki was quick to move forward once more, dread filling him. “To go would be madness. He will take you prisoner and ransom you back. You do not stand a chance!”

A muscle in Odin’s cheek ticked, and he sat down heavily. “Perhaps, but there is no other recourse. You killed two of his people, Loki. What did you think would happen when you betrayed your kingdom?”

Loki swallowed, unable to hold Odin’s gaze any longer. Eyes fixed down toward the ground, he said, “It was never about hurting the people of Asgard.”

“Then what was it about?”

Loki laughed, hollow and pained. “It was about bringing my false father to his knees and proving I am no _thing_ to be casually picked up and discarded at your will.”

When he looked up, Loki was surprised to see the grief and remorse darkening Odin’s gaze. As quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, shifting into an expression of disdain and resignation. Loki remained silent, unwilling to antagonize Odin further.

“I have made mistakes; I am not blind to that fact. That you sought to punish me for my offense by betraying the people you were raised to care for, betraying your _brother_ , only serves as proof that you are no son of Asgard. The boy I once knew had a higher regard for Asgard’s citizens and knew better than to risk the lives of hundreds, if not thousands, for something as petty as revenge. You have become an impossible thing, as twisted and hateful as the man I tried to save you from.”

The words struck a cord deep inside Loki, and he knew in the gravest way possible that Odin spoke the truth. It felt as though something had come loose inside his chest, and it cracked open. 

“I could ride in your stead—”

Odin silenced him, his hand cutting through the air and putting to an end the empty offer. “While you remain within Asgard, protected by the blood of my people, King Laufey can be defeated. It is your magic he desires most, and I will not allow you to sacrifice all that I have worked for all these years. Now get out. I leave at first light and I would like to spend my time in the company of my wife.”

Dismissed, Loki moved aside, unable to speak as Odin stormed past him. It was not until he heard the sound of boots against the flagstones that he moved, and then Loki’s feet carried him from the throne room to Thor’s door while his mind remained frozen in state of shock. How long he stood there Loki did not know, but a hand, too small and too gentle to be a threat, touched his wrist and Loki shook off his daze.

“Prince Loki?” 

Loki’s gaze dropped to where Delling stood at his side, and he felt unworthy of the genuine concern he found in the bright blue gaze.

“You should not have come out here.”

Delling shook his head. “The guards are making their rounds.” He tugged on Loki’s hand, drawing him away from Thor’s door and back toward his own room. “Your brother came to find you. He’s asleep in your bed.”

It struck Loki then that Odin had deliberately left him to be the one to tell Thor of their father’s quest. He could wait until after Odin was gone, guaranteeing that his brother would not discover his treachery quite yet, but tempting as the thought was, Loki knew he could not deny Thor what would possibly be his last chance to speak with his father.

“You are a good lad, Delling. I want you to go now. Hide if anyone comes by, but return to your mother’s side and do not come back here until you are called. It is not safe.”

For just a moment, it looked as though Delling would refuse. He nodded after several long seconds, squeezing Loki’s hand one last time as he asked,

“If you leave, you will take me with you...right?”

“I wish that I could, but I would not separate you from your family. Your mother would be beside herself if her son were to leave.”

Delling stared up at him, solemn and wide-eyed. “She would go with you, too. So would my brother.”

“If I am forced to leave, Delling, it will not be a happy occasion, and to join me would be to mark yourselves as traitors to the crown. I would not have that, not for anyone. Now _go_.”

He watched as Delling scuttled away, then slipped into his bedroom, careful to shut the door as quietly as possible. In the middle of his bed, Thor stirred but did not wake until Loki sat beside him.

“You must wake, Thor.”

“What? Loki, where did you go? Why are you dressed so formally?” Thor frowned up at him, sleep softening his features so that he looked almost ten years younger. “What has happened?” he demanded, his voice tight with worry and understanding. “Something is wrong.”

“The man I killed in the lower town, the Jötunn. His king has discovered his death and demanded a meeting with fa—father. He leaves at first light.”

“Why did he call for you?” 

It was not meant to be a slight, of that Loki was certain, but there was no ignoring the sharp sting at Thor’s question. Of all the people Odin would call to him before leaving on a quest, Loki came much further down the line than his brother, an afterthought recalled only at the gentle prodding of Frigga.

“He did not. I was...made aware that my actions had drawn the attention of King Laufey by a trustworthy source. I went to see if there was anything I could do to make amends and he—”

“He sent you away.” It was not a question, and as Thor said the words, he reached for Loki, pulling him down onto the bed and onto his chest. “He does you a great injustice, brother, and for that I am sorry.” He pressed a kiss to Loki’s temple, then another to his lips. “I would show you that while he does not see your value, I do—”

“But you cannot. Go and see your father, Thor. There is no knowing the outcome of tomorrow’s meeting, and you should not waste precious time here.” The ‘with me’ was left unsaid, but not unheard if the unhappy downward curve of Thor’s mouth was anything by which to go. 

“I have until dawn you said. I will go then. For now, Loki, sleep.”

Loki wanted to argue, but he knew there was no point. Thor would not hear any arguments, and unless Loki was willing to expose his role in their father’s fate, would not be moved any time soon. The thoughts haunting Loki would not be silenced, though, and so the hours of the night passed in quiet unrest, neither brother willing or able to break the fragile calm.

The waiting game had already begun, and Loki knew it would only get worse from here.


	12. Chapter 12

It was the herald who brought news of Odin’s death.

Loki was poised in the middle of the library, violin tucked beneath his chin, his fingers slip-sliding over the strings. There was little to be heard in the way of music, the object of his current playing to release some of the tension building within him. Odin had ridden out six hours prior and Loki sensed that something terrible had come to pass. He could feel it in the magic twisting through his veins, sharpening each musical note into something ugly. 

He took a deep breath, set his bow to the strings for the fourth time that hour and yelped as they all snapped at once. One struck his cheek, but the wound was a thing of little consequence as the library doors opened with a crash. Loki had a reprimand on the tip of his tongue, but it dried up, splintered into a thousand regrets as he took in the waxen expression on his brother’s face.

“No,” Loki said. He shook his head, willing Thor to take back the news he had yet to deliver but rang through the room all the same. “ _No_ , damn you!”

“Fandral and I are to ride out immediately to retrieve the bo—to retrieve father. The herald said he stood no chance. Laufey struck him down the moment he arrived at the meeting place. There was no warning or chance at a fair duel. He was called to his death, not a negotiation.”

Loki’s fingers went numb, the sound of his bow clattering against the stone floor distant to his ears. He opened his mouth, but no sound escaped. For the first time in all his years, words failed him. He only became aware that he had closed his eyes when the darkness became oppressive, and he opened them again to see tears staining Thor’s cheeks.

_I did that_ , Loki thought, his chest hollow. _I destroyed all that he holds dear, and he has no clue._ With a jolt, Loki realized why Thor was there: to offer comfort to Loki for the loss of their father.

The knowledge startled a laugh out of him, one that started high and almost breathless, only to descend with startling speed into something that bordered on hysterical. His eyes burned and his lungs ached to be filled by a proper breath, yet he found it impossible to calm himself. Thor’s eyes widened, but Loki could not say a word.

“Loki—” Distressed, Thor reached for him, tugging Loki into his arms. His grip was sure, his beard rough where it rubbed the tender skin of Loki’s neck. “Brother, please.”

Loki could not tell what Thor was asking for, but he yearned to give it to him nonetheless. It was then that he realized he was no longer laughing, that the sound coming from him was more a sob, and when he raised his hands to his face, they came away slick with his tears. He stared at his fingers aghast, a sense of betrayal sweeping over him.

“I don’t—I don’t understand. I was—I only meant...” He trailed off, unsure and lost. 

Though he was unaware of doing so, Loki found he had moved, stepping out of the shelter of Thor’s arms to sit heavily upon the cushioned seat of the window. The curtains rustled, pinned beneath his weight, but before he could move, Thor was there, tugging them free and pushing Loki back and down. The curtains fell into place once more, hiding them from sight and Loki’s breath stuttered in his chest as he stared up into Thor’s trusting gaze.

“It’s my—”

“Brother, hush,” Thor said, and to make certain Loki obeyed, joined their mouths. 

A shiver ran through Loki’s body. Despite knowing the folly in what they were doing, the risk being taken in doing this where anyone could find them, Loki allowed Thor to strip them of their clothing, careful to keep everything beside them on the bench and not allow them to fall to the ground where they could easily be seen by someone passing through. He gasped at the press of Thor’s mouth to his stomach, then hissed as a finger breached him too dry, but just right.

“Please,” Thor repeated.

Loki reached for him them, a moment of tenderness sweeping over him, and he cupped Thor’s face between his hands. “Anything, brother. You have only but to ask, and whatever I have, it is yours.”

Thor groaned and withdrew his finger. He fumbled with his pants, but a second later his hand returned, two fingers pressing in deep. The way was eased, and Loki found the culprit to be the small bottle of almond oil that he had given to Thor shortly after their first time together.

A thought formed in the back of his mind, only to be dashed apart as Thor’s fingers twisted, seeking and finding the place that had Loki gasping for breath. Then they were gone and Thor was there, hot and thick as he pushed his way into Loki’s body.

“I would have you always, brother. Loki. I would stay like this forever, if such a thing were possible.” He pulled back, then thrust in again, harder this time. “But the question remains: would you have _me_?”

Loki did not even have to think to respond. “I would have no one else,” he swore.

It was not a gentle coupling. Thor set an unrelenting pace, his fingers digging bruises into Loki’s skin, his teeth marking Loki’s throat and shoulder. The knowledge that they could be caught in such a compromising position meant little in that moment. His magic thrummed to life, singing a low, mournful song that only Loki could hear. All too soon, Thor tensed, groaning out his climax as he clutched Loki to him. Thor remained inside him afterward, though he had to be painfully sensitive by then, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Loki’s jaw. 

Just when Loki thought he would have to tend to his own completion, Thor slid a hand between them, grasping Loki’s cock. His strokes were gentle yet firm, and it took only four to have Loki gasping as he came. He felt broken apart from the inside, and it took him several long minutes to realize it was guilt he was feeling. He made to say something then, but Thor only hushed him once more.

“It can wait, brother. For now, rest.”

Thor pulled away, careful to remain within the boundary of the curtains as he dressed. He made short work of sorting Loki’s clothing out, deft fingers re-lacing trousers and shirt. When he stood, there was a look of regret upon his face.

“I must go. Will you wait for me in my rooms until I return?”

Loki opened his mouth to refuse, but instead found himself saying, “Of course, my brother.”

He waited only long enough to watch through the window as Thor rode out, then Loki was standing, gathering up his violin and bow and racing for his room. He passed Lady Sif in the hall, wincing at the cold look she threw his way. It occurred to him she might know of his guilt, but Loki was at a loss as what to do if that was the case. She would voice her suspicions, no doubt, but he knew he deserved no less. He had meant to exact some small revenge for the hurt Odin had caused him, not have the man killed, but regardless of his intentions, that was exactly what had happened. Odin was dead. 

“Dead.”

Loki froze in the middle of his room, the word ringing through his ears. His throat closed up and he stumbled twice as he crossed the room to his bed. The violin slipped from his fingers, landing on the bearskin rug with a hollow thud.

His first thought was of Thor, of the heartbreak he had caused for the person most important to Loki. Then he thought of Frigga. For as great of a distance at which Odin had always held Loki, Frigga had done the opposite. As a child, there had never been a moment at which he worried she did not care for him, not a day passing in which he would not find himself in her embrace. She had always doted upon Thor, and equally so with Loki. This blow, he knew, could very well be her undoing.

For one terrifying moment, Loki feared the tears burning his eyes would give way, and he struggled to regain control of his emotions. His fault in Odin’s death left no room for tears, not even those of remorse. Loki stood and stripped, leaving his clothes in a heap on the floor. He donned a more formal outfit, hands trembling as he ran his fingers through his hair. All his thoughts on the matter, all of the guilt he was feeling, were pushed down and locked away.

He knew on instinct where to find Frigga, and he made his way to her solar room. Jane and Darcy were in attendance, but they made room for him on the sofa. The second he settled down beside his mother, Frigga’s arms were around him.

“Loki—”

He silenced her with a shake of his head, gathering her slender form into his arms. Unused as he was to offering comfort, it came easily then. He rested his cheek upon her head, mindful of the pins holding her hair in place. As though his show of kindness was too much, his mother’s gentle tears gave way to shuddering sobs and her fingers twisted in his shirt as she clung to him. He could feel the gazes of Jane and Darcy, but he was resolute in his decision to ignore them both.

The storm of emotions took long to calm, and the candles had burned down almost to the holders before a servant came in to change them out. It was late in the evening when Frigga finally grew still, her breathing evening out as she drifted into sleep. Tipping her with great care, Loki lifted his mother into his arms and carried her from the solar room down a flight of stairs and to her bedroom, where he laid her out on her bed. Her handmaids came forward then, waiting for Loki to let himself out of the room before they stripped their queen for bed.

Ensconced in Thor’s room, Loki paced. His thoughts were chaotic, half-formed notations on what would need to be taken care of in the coming days interwoven with the sharp sting of shame that he was the cause for his mother’s distress. It was one thing to distance himself from Odin, to cast aside the title of ‘father’ after discovering the truth, but his mother…

Loki grew restless as the night bled into early morning, wondering what was taking his brother so long. He had intended to stay awake until Thor returned, but he was exhausted, stretched beyond his limits by the recent events and those that were still to come. Giving in to his own desire, Loki rang for a bath despite the early hour. An older page was the first to answer, expression solemn.

“Have the servants fill the bath. There is no need to heat the water. It will need to be refilled when Prince Thor returns.” 

“Yes, Your Highness.”

It took only a short while for the water to be brought up and the copper tub to be filled, and even less time for Loki to heat the water with magic, though it left him chilled. When the last of the servants exited the room, he shed his clothing in a heap and stepped into the tub. He leaned back, allowing the ends of his hair to become saturated, and closed his eyes. The water was lavender scented, not one of Loki’s preferred oils, but soothing nonetheless. 

He closed his eyes and drifted into a half-sleep, the faint noises of the castle fading from his conscious awareness. He became so oblivious of everything else around him that he did not take note of Thor’s arrival until fingers combed through his hair, tugging gently on the loose strands. Had it been anyone else, Loki would, out of instinct, have cursed them for sneaking up on him. At Thor’s touch, however, he merely tipped his head back further, blinking open heavy-lidded eyes.

“I did not mean to bathe for so long,” Loki said, apologetic when he saw the dust still clinging to Thor’s face and arms. He made to stand, only to have Thor hold him in place.

“Stay.” 

Thor straightened with a groan and fumbled with the laces of his of clothing. With damp hands, Loki swatted the tired fingers away from their task, taking over. He climbed from the bath long enough to help Thor undress, remembering seconds before the door opened that he had asked to have fresh water brought to the room. It was the same page from earlier, one who seemed unmoved by the intimate scene he had disturbed. Thor smirked, but he turned his body so as to block any intrusive glances. The page, to his credit, did not so much as blink.

“Rikka sent me to inquire as to whether enough fresh water to refill the bath is still required.”

“No,” Thor said, cutting off Loki’s reply. "My brother can cleanse the water he has already used. Although two extra buckets worth would not be remiss.”

“Yes, Your Royal Highness.” The boy bowed and disappeared, the door shutting behind with a soft click.

“You’ll overflow the tub with that much water.” 

Loki shivered, and moved to the hearth to stoke the fire there into a blaze. When he returned, Thor reached for him, his hands roaming free over Loki’s arms, shoulders and back. He leaned in, his face coming to rest in the curve of Loki’s neck, and a fine tremor ran through him.

His mouth to Loki’s skin, Thor said, “Can you not enlarge the tub enough for two? I do not wish to be alone just now.”

“Of course,” Loki murmured. 

He touched his fingers to the edge of the large basin, willing it to grow in length and width. Another spell and the water was clean and heated once more. A soft knock came, but when he made to pull away, Thor’s grip tightened. 

“You are a fool to take such a risk,” Loki hissed, but aloud he permitted entrance.

It was the same page, a bucket near as big as he clutched in his hands. He kept his head bowed as he crossed the room and added the water to the tub, leaving for a brief moment and returning with a second bucket. On his final trip out, he paused long enough to speak in a low voice.

“I have told the other servants you are not to be disturbed for the rest of the night and throughout tomorrow, Prince Loki. Your father’s body is being tended to, but it will not be ready for viewing until tomorrow evening at the earliest. If you require anything, you need only ring. Either my brother or I will answer.”

“And who is your brother?” Loki asked.

“Delling, your Highness. He told me of your generosity during the Midsummer celebration. He holds you in great regard. Enjoy your bath, highnesses.” He left without another word, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Thor was the first to sink into the steaming water, groaning with appreciation before holding out a hand for Loki. It was far from the most intimate thing they had shared, but Loki could feel his cheeks heat all the same as he took his place in front of Thor. He assumed they were meant to relax, but the fingers returned to his hair, this time with purpose.

“Let me bathe you?” Thor asked, whispering the words into Loki’s shoulder.

“If anyone should be tended to, it is you, brother. You—”

“Please.” 

Just one word and it was laden with so much emotion that Loki’s heart ached, Thor’s voice was raw and far more open and vulnerable than Loki had ever heard it. In the face of everything that had happened, it was an easy concession, and one he did not hesitate to make.

“If that is what you wish,” he agreed.

There was a cloth resting on the edge of the tub, and Loki made a note to see that both Delling and his brother received a small token for their forethought. It was rare to find one page so loyal to his princes, even less so two. Should they prove to be as prudent as they claimed, and should Loki live to enjoy a future in which doing so was possible, he intended to see them put in his personal employment. For now, he would make certain they were awarded for their discretion.

His attention moved away from the pages and back to the present activity as Thor began to wash him. His strokes were even and firm, a steady rhythm of moving the cloth across Loki’s shoulders twice before soaking it and beginning again. Thor was gentle as he pulled Loki closer and urged him to tip his head back, using a cup from the nearby table to saturate Loki’s hair. He used a fresh soap bar, crumbling a corner into his palm to rub into Loki’s hair. Thor’s touch was rough, his fingers digging into Loki’s scalp, massaging away the tension that had built there.

When he was done with Loki’s hair, Thor’s attention shifted lower, one hand sliding beneath the water to wrap around Loki’s cock. It was only then that Thor hesitated, his mouth skimming the back of Loki’s neck as he asked,

“Do you mind?”

Loki shook his head. “Whatever I can give you,” he replied.

He required little prompting to shift onto his knees. The air was cool against his damp skin and he shivered, waiting patiently as Thor hurriedly washed himself. Though he knew it was coming, he nonetheless startled when a thick finger probed its way inside him, slick with soap. He was no longer loose from their earlier joining, but his body was relaxed and did not fight the intrusion. Soon enough the movements of Thor’s finger became more deliberate, more forceful, and Loki’s head dipped forward as he braced himself against the edge of the bath.

The mouth at the back of Loki’s neck grew insistent, as did the finger twisting up inside him. He shuddered as Thor found the place inside him far more sensitive than any other and sank his teeth into the meat of his bottom lip to hold at the bay the sounds forming low in his chest. Something in the air changed then, but Loki did not understand what it was until Thor stood, sending a wave of water up over the side of the tub, splashing onto the stone floor below. His grip was unforgiving, nails biting into the skin stretched thinly over Loki's hips.

There was no warning, no further preparation than the single finger Thor had granted him just prior, before Thor was driving in. The pain was sudden and sharp, Loki’s body stretched too far too fast, like a string on his violin pulled too tight. He closed his eyes against the way his vision blurred, and he reminded himself that this was his due. For Thor, he could accept this. Just like that, everything went still. Thor’s fingers loosened, and his hands moved to Loki’s back, brushing over the knobs of his spine. Loki could feel his remorse, swift and immediate, so genuine it hurt more than the ill-prepared breach.

“Brother, I have—I have hurt you.”

Loki forced his tongue to work, turning his head to meet Thor’s concerned gaze. “No more than I can bear,” he replied.

“But never at my hands, my brother. I would never—” He broke off, dropping one of his hands to where they were still joined. “I simply wished to forget, to live only right now.” Thor ignored Loki’s protestations as he withdrew, mindful of the tender skin, torn and aggravated.

Thor climbed from tub and wrapped a towel about his waist, then helped Loki to follow suit. The care with which he laid Loki out on the bed was almost enraging, the exact opposite of which Loki wished to be subjected. He let out a sigh of relief when Thor moved away, taking a moment to gather his wits about him. He could hear Thor moving about the room, the sound of glass jars clinking against one another muted. When the bed dipped, announcing Thor’s return, Loki was ready for it. He was not, however, ready for the fingers that spread him open, or the cool touch of ointment at his entrance.

“Do you know what saddens me most, brother?”

“No, though I am certain you will tell me.” Loki turned his head to the side, refusing to meet Thor’s eyes.

“That you meant to bear your pain in silence. That you would have let me hurt you.”

It was too much, the sincerity in Thor’s voice, the tenderness with which he applied the balm. Furious, Loki shoved him away. It took only a thought to have the wounds, slight as they were, healing and then he was turning to face his brother, eyes nearly black with rage.

“Do you think me so weak, _brother_? So pathetic that I cannot bear some minor discomfort?”

“I think you are too used to hiding your feelings from all who wish to know and care for you. I think that you would seek pain where none should be, if only to assuage some hurt within yourself. You scoff when I speak of lo—”

“Do not,” Loki snarled, his hand rising fast to cut off the words. “Do not say that word. It has no place here.”

Thor’s eyebrows rose, and his expression was one of challenge, not upset at the cold statement. When he tugged Loki’s arm down, there was no resistance.

“Does it not? When I would have you never from my side?”

“You speak like a prince, but that is no longer your title. Oh, the coronation has yet to take place, but you are king now, and as such, you will be required to marry. To take a wife and bear an heir. There will be no place for a brother when that day comes.”

Thor stared at him, brows drawn together. “Would you leave me, then?”

“You will be married!”

“Perhaps so, but I would still have you, even then. Asgard’s queen to my left, you to my right, and, the Gods willing, in my bed.”

What was meant to be comforting stuck Loki as though a physical blow, sending him reeling back. He could almost see it as Thor described: Asgard’s proud king and his queen sat before their people, but at night, behind closed doors, a queen would take to her marriage bed alone while her husband sated his desires with another. Something of his ugly thoughts must have shown on his face, because suddenly Thor was reaching for him, grasping Loki by the shoulders and dragging him close.

“Enough, brother. There is nothing I can say to convince you of my intentions. Stay with me tonight. Do not leave me alone, for tomorrow—tomorrow I must make plans to bury our father, to say nothing of the coronation of which you spoke. I desire your company for as long as you will give it. Agreed?”

There was still bitterness lingering within Loki’s heart, a nasty, venomous snake of misguided hatred, but he closed it away, relaxing once more into his brother’s arms.

“I will stay until you send you me away. I am an idiot, brother. Forgive me?”

Thor made no verbal reply. He lay down, taking Loki with him, and arranged them to his liking. Loki doused the candles with a whispered word, but left the fire in the hearth going. Winter’s chill held no place in Thor’s rooms, and so the furs were kicked away. Between one breath and the next, Loki had the passing thought this might very well be the last time Thor held him thus. It was only a matter of time, after all, until Loki’s treason was discovered.

As Thor’s fingers combing through his hair dragged him closer to sleep, Loki prayed it would not happen before the burial.


	13. Chapter 13

Just before sunrise, Loki stirred from the restless slumber he had fallen into, but remained abed for several minutes longer. Thor was still asleep, face slack and a heavy arm looped across Loki’s waist. He did not wake when Loki eased himself away, just continued to snore gently in the pre-dawn light. He looked heartbreakingly young, and Loki regretted that the time of their youth was now over. After this, Thor would become king and whatever vestiges of his boyhood that remained would be stripped away.

Donning Thor’s robe, Loki opened the door, his gaze landing on young Delling. The boy was alert, and already moving in Loki’s direction.

“Breakfast, your Highness?”

“Please. An assortment of meats and cheeses and some bread. Prince Thor prefers simple fare in the morning. Your brother, what is his name? And how old is he?”

“This will be Riodhr’s fifteenth winter, your Highness.”

“He is bit older than most pages, is he not?”

“Yes, Your Highness, only Steward says he has not the head to be a squire.”

“He is diligent and knows to hold his tongue.”

Delling failed to smother his grin as he said, “Yes, Your Highness, but he cannot hold a sword to save his life. He would have no place beside a knight. Useless, the both of us.”

Loki knew there would be hell to pay when it was discovered he had gone over the steward’s head, but he was untroubled by the thought. “Tell me, Delling, what knowledge have you of magic?”

At that, Delling frowned. “I am not frightened by it, if that is what you mean. I have seen your magic, Your Highness. It does not seem so scary to me.”

“No, it would not. You are but a child still, and the prejudice of our people has yet to touch you. Prince Thor will need an attendant now that he is to become king. A manservant he can trust with his life as well as his secrets. I would like to speak to your brother on such a matter.”

For all that Delling was still quite young, understanding was bright in his eyes. “I can fetch him after breakfast, your Highness.”

“Good,” Loki said. “I will need an attendant as well, though not to the degree of my brother. Would you be willing to work for me?

Delling’s eyes went wide as he nodded. “Yes, please, sir.”

Loki strove for a comforting smile, though he knew it would not appear genuine. “Good. We shall begin now. My father’s body is being prepped for burial.” At the look of vague horror on Delling’s face, he shook his head. “I would not send you in to view it. Preparations must be made. I will be drafting a general announcement that my brother will review and sign, but I will need copies made and sent to the outlying towns. For now, please have breakfast brought up. When you return, I shall have a note for you to take to the steward.”

“Yes, sir!”

In the time it took for him to say the words, Delling was gone. Loki stepped back into the room, his gaze moving to Thor’s slumbering form, and he wanted nothing more than to be back in bed, Thor a welcome weight against his back. There was too much work to be done, though, and so Loki took a seat at his brother’s desk, retrieving from the cedar chest resting atop it several sheaves of parchment. Though it was Thor’s duty as heir to the crown to write the announcement of their father’s death, Loki had a steadier hand.

He paused in his work only when Delling arrived, and then it was to rouse Thor and press upon him some of the food. Left to his own devices, Thor would ignore all but his grief, and though Loki’s own heart felt rent in two, his guilt drove him to take on whatever tasks he could to ease Thor’s burdens.

“What are you working on?” Thor asked around a mouthful of food.

Loki shot him a glance full of disdain. “Swallow before you speak. You are not a heathen; please do not play the part of one.”

Thor grinned at him, food in his teeth and falling from his lips. It was a disgusting sight to behold, and it required all of Loki’s markedly nonexistent restraint to keep from toppling his brother off the side of the bed. Only the fact that doing so would mean sending the food to the floor with Thor kept Loki’s ire in check. He snatched up some of the salted meat and cheese instead, and escaped back to the desk with the letter he had been reviewing.

“I am drafting the official announcement,” Loki said, after another moment had passed. “You will need to look it over and sign it once it meets your approval, but I see no reason it cannot be penned by my hand.”

All at once, the laughter in Thor’s eyes bled away, and he looked down at the food in front of him. “You are too kind to me, brother. Do not think your generosity is not appreciated.”

“Believe me, Thor, it is no hardship, assuming such a duty for you. I would take all the unpleasant tasks set upon your shoulders were it possible. Now, finish eating, for after this, we are going to visit mother. She needs you now more than ever before.”

“Because she does not need you? Loki—”

“Please, Thor, eat and let me finish this letter. You came straight to the room last night, did you not?”

“I did, though I sent word to fetch me if she was awake. You are correct as ever.”

They lapsed into silence once more, Loki striking out and re-writing entire sentences while Thor finished clearing the food on the platter. It was not until Thor stood to get dressed that Loki looked up, and when he did, he frowned.

“Your hair is a mess.”

Thor laughed, though the sound was more hollow than happy. “I did not wash it last night, just got it wet.”

Loki’s gaze slid to the window, and he contemplated the late morning hour. Chances were high their mother was awake, but for Thor to leave the room in such a state would attract the kind of gossip Loki did not wish to deal with. With a sigh, he set aside his quill and crossed the room to the door. He was unsurprised to find Delling there, though the second, older boy was unforeseen though not unfamiliar.

“Riodhr, Your Highness,” the older boy said. He shared Delling’s straw-covered hair, though his eyes were darker, and his disposition far more serious.

After a brief moment of silence as Loki looked the boy over, he asked, “Your brother mentioned you might be interested in a new line of work as Prince Thor’s manservant?”

“Yes, Your Highness, if His Royal Highness so wishes it.”

Loki offered him the barest of smiles. “Even if he does not, I do. You begin now. Please see that fresh water is brought up. It need not be enough to fill the basin. Perhaps three buckets? Find another servant to help you.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Riodhr bowed as he backed down the hall, turning away only when he reached the stairs. Delling remained behind, his expression earnest and open.

“And you, young Delling, I should like you to take a message to my mother. Let her know we will be attending her shortly and she is not to leave her rooms under any circumstance. You may pass the message along to her maid, but make certain she understands that I am serious. The Lady Queen has been dealt quite the blow, and her grief will leave her...”

“In a delicate condition? That is what my mother said last night.”

“Yes, exactly,” Loki replied.

His heart ached at the thought of how lost Frigga must feel, and he wondered what she would say—what _Thor_ would say—should he decide to stay in Thor’s room rather than face the woman whose life he had helped destroy. It was a tempting thought, but a thought only. If anything, Loki deserved the guilt consuming him from the inside out.

Delling nodded. “I will make sure the Lady Queen receives your message, Your Highness,” he said, then he was gone too, disappearing down the hall without a backwards glance.

When Loki closed the door and turned back toward the bed, Thor was watching him. It was the kind of weighted gaze that left Loki feeling as though his very soul was being judged. He did not think the idea so unlikely in the face of Thor’s next words.

“Why do you hide behind such a distant demeanor when you are with my friends and fa—father? It is obvious you have a heart, why not share it?”

“Because in the hands of your friends it would stomped upon and cast aside!” Loki snapped. He froze a second later, horrified by his own words. There were a hundred things he could have said in reply, but the truth had not been among those he counted.

The look on Thor’s face went from assessing to saddened, and before Loki could tell him not to, he was up and standing before Loki. His hands were gentle as they cradled Loki’s face, and his tone, when he spoke, was soft.

“And father?”

“Father made it clear to me that his love was unavailable.”

“Surely that is not what he meant.”

Loki swallowed, ashamed of the sting of tears at the backs of his eyes. “He said so as plainly, Thor, and without remorse.” Loki kept his gaze on the floor, refusing to meet his brother’s eyes until the hands on his face tilted his head back.

“Then that was his loss, and he was not the man I believed him to be.” His words were genuine, though his voice broke twice.

“Do not disregard his care for you because of me. Odin loved you dearly, and now he is dead. Your grief is much deserved, and I would never begrudge you that.”

There were tears in Thor’s eyes and on his cheeks, and when he brought their mouths together in a chaste kiss, Loki could taste the salt of them. A moment later, a knock at the door startled them apart, and Loki turned away, his hand trembling as he brushed them down the front of the robe Thor’s robe, recalling that he had yet to don his own clothing.

“Enter,” Loki called when Thor was once more in bed, the sheet hiding his nakedness from the eyes of Riodhr and the three servants accompanying him.

They poured all but one of the buckets of water into the large tub, then retreated from the room, leaving Loki to heat the water. When it was steaming, he waved Thor into the basin.

“Will I be able to convince you to join me?”

“No, you will not. Now hurry up so I can wash your hair.”

Thor climbed into the basin and sat. The water rose higher as he leaned back, threatening to overflow, and Loki eyed it warily as he moved his chair closer. Someone had set a fresh bar of soup on the low table beside the tub, as well as several bottles of oil in varying scents. Loki chose one of sage and one of rosemary and added a few drops of each to the water. When Thor reached for the washing cloth, Loki batted his hand away.

“For once, brother, let _me_ take care of _you_.” He caught Thor’s gaze and held it, trying to convey just how much he needed Thor to give him this. Some of what he was feeling must have shone through, for a second later, his brother nodded and whispered,

“Thank you.”

It was not hard to find a rhythm as Loki dipped the cloth into the water and slid it over Thor’s broad shoulders and down his chest. He rubbed in circles, more to ease the tension in Thor’s body than to wash, and when he was done, he reached for the soap and broke off a corner. It crumbled in Loki’s fingers, and he wet the little clump before working it into Thor’s hair. Loki dragged his nails across Thor’s scalp, and in return, his brother went boneless against the back of the tub, his head tilting to rest upon the edge and his eyes falling shut. Thor looked to be halfway back to sleep, and he did not stir even when Loki used a wood cup to pour fresh water over his head. It was only when Loki stood that Thor opened his eyes.

“Come,” Loki said. “Let us get dressed so we can attend mother.”

Loki made to move away, but before he could do more than push the chair aside, Thor’s arm was curling around his waist, pulling him back. The fingers that tugged at the ties of Loki’s robe were graceless, the hands that pushed aside the heavy material shaking. It was on the tip of Loki’s tongue to remind his brother that they did not have time for this when he heard Thor’s low, choked sob, muffled as he pressed his face into Loki’s stomach.

“Oh, Thor.” Loki settled one hand against the back of his brother’s head and held him through the wave of tears and grief. He did not let go until the arms around him eased their hold, and even then, he did not pull away more than required for Thor to stand and find his own feet.

It was a new role for Loki, being the one to take care of another, but it felt familiar all the same. Comfortable, even. He steadied Thor as he climbed out of the tub, then grabbed one of the towels and began drying him off. Loki started with Thor’s feet, directing him to hold onto Loki’s shoulder as he dried first one and then the other, careful not to put them back down where the stone was wet. As he moved his way up Thor’s body, he found himself cataloging the scars he came across, recalling from memory the stories of how each came to find its home on Thor’s skin.

When he reached Thor’s waist, Loki paused in his task to lead his brother over to the bed. “Sit,” he ordered, and smiled when his brother did as instructed. Loki finished drying him off, squeezing most of the water out of Thor’s hair, then crossed his wardrobe. He withdrew Thor’s softest hose and his most comfortable looking breeches and tunic. Thor remained pliant under his hands as Loki dressed him, his only resistance a noise of discontent when Loki pulled away once more.

“I must get dressed as well, Thor, and as you well know, my clothes are in my room, not here.”

“Then wear something of mine,” Thor argued. He seemed to sense Loki’s uncertainty, for he added, “It is selfish of me to say so, but I would not be parted from you unless it was truly necessary.”

“Something of yours, then,” Loki granted.

Loki moved to the chest where Thor’s older clothes were kept and donned a similar outfit, then hunted down a pair of socks and soft-soled shoes for each of them. Dressed, he allowed Thor to take hold of his hand, and did not struggle away when they stepped into the hall. The few servants they passed only bowed, their faces respectfully down-turned. No one spoke a word, nor spared a second glance toward his and Thor’s joined hands, and for just a moment, Loki wondered if they would always have such freedom. Then they were at their mother’s door, and Thor dropped his hand free to knock. Before Loki had a chance to feel hurt, their mother was there, pulling each of into a tight hug.

“How are you holding up, darling?” Frigga asked.

It took Loki a moment to realize she was talking to him and not Thor, and when he glanced up at her face, he was caught off guard by the sincerity in her gaze. All of a sudden, he felt as though he was ten again, his mother consoling him after the death of the stray dog he had rescued from the streets of the palace city. His throat closed up, and it was a struggle not to give into the tears burning his eyes.

“It is not I you should be concerned for, mother, but yourself and Thor,” he said at last.

Frigga closed her eyes, but not so fast that Loki did not see the disappointment there. When she reached out again, it was to tug them into her room. She looked them both over, frowning at Thor. “Darling, your _hair_.” She sounded almost plaintive, and it was enough to bring a smile to Thor’s face, brief as it was.

She led them through the main room of her chambers, not to the bedroom she had shared with Odin, but to the second bedroom, where she had stayed during the last month of her pregnancy and the first few weeks after Thor’s birth. Unlike many high-born women, Frigga had not allowed Odin to hire either a wet-nurse or nurse until Thor had cut his first tooth, and had had what was once the chamber for an attendant turned into personal quarters. On the rare occasion that Frigga’s temper disallowed Odin’s company, she would divide her time between the solar room and here.

As a boy, Loki had had a great fascination with the large wooden chair by the window, piled high with cushions, and would imagine her sitting there as she sang him to sleep while his father watched on. Or lying on the bed with him, laughing as Loki’s small hands chased after her fingers held above his head. He knew, now, that he had joined the family long after the time a mother might share such a room with her child, and Odin had most likely been as far from Loki as possible. Whatever memories this room held, there were none from Loki’s infancy, and he found himself pausing at the threshold to acknowledge the newfound truth. By the time he managed to shake off the mood, Frigga was already seated on the bed, Thor sprawled out before her with his head on a pillow perched in her lap. She was combing through the tangles in his hair, and as Loki crossed the room to join them, he plucked up the comb lying on her dressing table, passing it into her ready hand as he sat at Thor’s hip.

“My darling boys,” Frigga murmured. She reached out, her hand a gentle pressure against the curve of Loki’s cheek. “I would be lost without you both.” The blue of her eyes shone bright with tears as she added, “My greatest fear now is the thought of losing one of you. I do not think my heart would survive it.”

Once upon a time, Thor would have snorted at her concern, brash and sure that nothing could possibly happen to them. Now, he looked up at his mother and her worry was reflected in his eyes. Loki’s stomach clenched tight, and for a moment he thought he might throw up from the sheer pain radiating through his gut. The guilt ate at him, and Loki wanted nothing more than return to his room and hide from the haunted expressions on Frigga and Thor’s faces.

Something of what Loki was feeling must have shown on his face, for in the next second, Thor was pulling Loki down onto his chest, his arm an unmovable band holding Loki in place. He had a brief urge to struggle, but it subsided at the calming rake of Frigga’s nails across his scalp. His sleep the night before had been poor, riddled with nightmares and the restlessness that came from a guilty conscience. As a result, with every pass of Frigga’s fingers through his hair and each steady beat of Thor’s heart beneath his ear, Loki found himself pulled closer and closer toward sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

Loki had only ever seen the city surrounding the castle turn out in such a fashion during times of celebration, when streets were flooded with great cheer and Asgard’s people merrily dressed. The procession of mourners lining the streets and spilling into the courtyard wore their grief without shame. Men and women alike wept as Odin’s open coffin passed by, and the few children in attendance clung to their mothers’ skirts or their fathers’ hands, many not understanding the full significance of what was taking place.

They paused at the doors to the castle to allow those gathered there to come forward and place their flowers atop the blanket protecting Odin’s body. Then they were moving again, the chill of winter driving them onward. Those closest murmured their sympathy and condolences, and though Loki knew he was not deserving of such care, he allowed their words to steady the tremors in his hands and the erratic beating of his heart.

Ahead of him, Frigga walked beside Thor, clutching tightly at his arm. Her legs had given out on her twice already, and made Loki ache just to watch her, though he dared not offer his own arm in support as well. It was important that the people see their Queen Consort’s show of strength during the devastation of King Odin’s passing. Thrice, Thor turned to catch Loki’s gaze, his expression a mask of ill-hidden grief, but he did not say a word, did not reach out. It was in his eyes, though, the relief he received at finding Loki always there, just an arm’s length away. It was almost enough to comfort Loki, but always, after looking to his brother, Thor would then turn his gaze to Lady Jane walking at his other side. Loki despised his feelings of inadequacy, but it was hard to fault his fair cousin when it was clear she as deeply affected by Odin’s death as Thor was.

The coffin was borne into the throne room and set upon small dais for viewing. Around it were candles and incense, the latter to keep at bay the smell of death. Small though it was, it was a blessing that Odin’s passing had occurred during the winter and not at the height of summer. For the next seven days, his coffin would remain in the throne room so that the citizens of Asgard could pay their respects, during which his likeness would be carved into a stone cover to hold him for the rest from then on. After such a time, he would be moved down to the burial chamber where he would join the other kings of Asgard.

And close on the heels of _that_ , there would be the coronation of Thor. Loki had already begun the preparations for that, aware that neither his mother nor brother would be up to the task. He had seen to the funeral as well, wanting to relieve his mother of all concerns but mourning her husband. It was not as though he lacked the time, for his nights were sleepless and his days spent assuring Thor that he was well-cared for, when in truth, Loki could not stomach more than the plainest fare. Even then, if he was not careful and ate more than a few bites, he would find himself sick, his throat and nose burning as his stomach purged itself of the unwanted food.

“Will you say a few words, Your Highness?” the priest asked.

Loki shook his head, though he knew it was rude. “Prince Thor will be speaking,” he said. It was true enough, though custom dictated Loki say something as well. Loki had only words of anger and regret for his deceased false-father, and they had no place at a time such as this. His grief and rage at the injustice of all that had passed would wait until he could speak his mind freely and without audience.

He moved back to take his brother’s place at Frigga’s side, and guided her over to the bench closest to the dais. They remained standing as Thor took his place by the coffin, and when they sat, it was a signal to everyone else to do the same. Loki meant to stay there, but after two false starts, it was clear to him that Thor was in no better position than Frigga. With regret, he abandoned his mother to Ladies Jane and Darcy and moved to stand just behind Thor, his movements out of sight of their audience.

With boldness he did not entirely feel, Loki pressed his hand to Thor’s back, his fingers brushing against the skin at the base of his neck. To anyone else, it would seem as though Loki was only offering his emotional support, but in truth, the very second he made contact with Thor, Loki could feel the tension ease. Just like that, Thor began to speak, and though Loki did not hear the words, he listened to the cadence and felt the love and care with which Thor spoke.

When all was done, Loki returned to Frigga’s side, waving away his brother’s hand. “See to Lady Jane and her companion. I will help mother to her room. You may find me either there, or in my own quarters.”

Thor hesitated, something sad and a lost in his expression. “Can we not do both together.”

Loki looked pointedly at where Lady Jane was weeping quietly into Lady Darcy’s arms. “We cannot. They need their rest, Thor, as do you. See them to their rooms and then return to your own. If you wish it, I will meet you there.”

“Do you believe I would have it any other way?” Thor inquired.

The question made Loki hiss with unease, and he cast a wary eye about to make sure no one had heard his brother. “You are an idiot to speak so plainly here. Do not make me repeat myself, Thor, of you shall find my door barred to you.”

There was genuine hurt in Thor’s eyes, and Loki winced. “I did not mean to be so cruel. Go, Thor, and I shall meet you in your rooms with a hot meal and my violin. I will play until you sleep. Does that suit you?”

Thor’s relief was so swift, it left Loki breathless even as his brother replied. “Indeed it does.”

From where they had stood lurking in the shadows, Thor’s friends moved forward, and Loki was surprised to see that it was Fandral who swept Lady Jane up into his arms, carrying her from the room. Thor was close on his heels, Darcy similarly held, though Lady Sif kept pace, her hand clenched tight around Lady Darcy’s. Only when they were gone from the room did Loki turn back to Frigga.

“Mother?”

He waited for her to lift her face from his shoulder, and her distress left his heart feeling as though it had been torn in two. Never had he meant to be the reason his mother looked thus, no matter how angry he was with Odin. Knowing they shared no blood did not lessen his feelings for her, and he wondered at that as he gathered her close.

“It is time for you to retire to your rooms. Come,” he said, aiding her to her feet. When her legs refused to hold her up, he did as his brother had, catching her at the knees and swinging her up into her arms. Though he lacked a warrior’s strength, their mother had never been a large woman, and the loss of her husband had only caused her to lose more weight. She felt as frail and delicate as a bird in his arms, and Loki slowed his steps, careful not to jostle her.

In her room, he laid her down on her bed as gently as possible, then stepped back to allow her maids to tend to her. When she was dressed in nightclothes and tucked beneath the covers, he laid down beside her, his head against her breast, listening to the unsteady beat of her heart. He imagined, then, that the skipped beats were the ones Odin had taken with him into his next life, and it was then that his carefully constructed mask began to crack.

“What will I do now?” Frigga asked, breaking the silence.

Loki closed his eyes, but it was not enough to stop the sudden spill of tears. “I wish I knew.”

She began to sob then. Not the tears of shocked grief or those of a wife and Queen mourning before her people. They were they kind of sobs that wracked her whole body, ugly and heartbreaking because now, three days after news had come of Odin’s death, Frigga was just finally beginning to glimpse the bleak future she faced without her husband. For all her apparent strength, a large part of Frigga’s world had just been shattered, and the realization of what that would mean for her was just beginning to set in.

And Loki was the reason for her pain.

He held her through the storm, not loosening his grip until she fell into an uneasy sleep. The hour had grown late by the time he withdrew, and he left her in the care of her maids to find Thor. Loki expected to find his brother in one of their rooms, but a quick search revealed that his brother was in neither location. On a hunch, Loki made his way to the library—stopping to instruct Delling and his brother to have food waiting upon his return—and there he found Thor, hidden away in the window seat, with one knee drawn up, upon which he rested his chin as he gazed out into the starless night.

“Brother, I was worried when you were not in your room.”

Thor looked up at him, expression so open and raw it all but brought Loki to his knees. When he spoke, Thor’s voice was rough, and thick with tears. “I could not bear to be in my room, and it seemed ill-advised, to enter yours without your permission.”

Loki pushed at Thor’s shoulder until he moved over, then sat down beside him. “You are an idiot. My door is always open to you.” At Thor’s look, he allowed, “ _Almost_ always. And even when it is not, you have but to knock and I would let you in. If I am not there, you need not wait for me to invite you in. Now come. There will be no formal dinner tonight, and you are in need of rest. Food is waiting for you.”

“And a bath?”

For a moment, Loki thought his brother was serious, but the small upward curl of his lip gave Thor away. With a roll of his eyes, Loki said, “No, no bath tonight, you spoiled child. Food and sleep is all that awaits you.”

“And you will stay?”

There was such genuine concern in Thor’s voice, as though he thought perhaps Loki would refuse, and it was an unpleasant reminder that where Loki’s moods were concerned, it was always a possibility. He had never liked to be the one Thor depended upon because he never felt worthy of such a privilege, and in turn, Thor had learned that at any time, Loki could, and would, turn him away for no understandable reason. He regretted doing so now, and he reached out to take Thor’s arm in a reassuring grip.

“I will stay for however long you wish me to, brother. Now come.”

Loki stood, pulling Thor up with him. They walked in silence to Loki’s room, and when they ate, it was with the sound of new snow falling against the window. It would most likely be the last of the season, and within two month’s time, the chill would begin to wane and it would be time to start breaking the ice on the fields before planting season.

As they retired to the bed, Loki had the thought that there were still things he wished he could say, anger he wished he could share with Odin. It would have to wait, however, until after the burial and the coronation. Until then, Loki would bide his time and keep his demons locked away.

**. . .**

The days following the funeral passed quickly, with Thor spending much of his time either with Frigga in her chambers or the council. Loki was ever at his side, but he spent the long hours during the council meetings going over the list of things that needed to be taken care of before the coronation. It was more symbolic than anything else, a tradition meant to help Asgard’s people through the transition of one king’s reign to the next and less the formal ritual it was in other kingdoms. There was little required for the ceremony itself, but the feast that followed was a grand thing and much needed to bring some cheer to the citizens’ faces.

As Thor listened to Councilman Branstock, still a favorite of Loki’s, relay the latest issues for the villages closest to Jotunheim, Loki focused on what food and entertainment would need to be prepared. Though he had offered to play for Thor recently, Loki had yet to do so, his violin all but forgotten over the last fortnight. When he thought about it, Loki realized with a start that he had not played since he had received word of Odin’s death, and he wondered what that said about his state of mind. It was rare that he went a single day without picking up his violin, and unheard of for him to go more than two, even when his fingers were a wreck.

A cough at Loki’s right had him glancing up, gaze locked by Thor’s dazzling blue one. For a moment, it was as though the last few weeks had never happened. Then the moment was broken as Thor’s attention was dragged back to the man seated opposite him.

“I am aware of the trouble along the Muspelheim-Midgard border, and as my father planned, we will do all that we can, but our army stands little chance against Muspelheim’s spell-casters. The barrier that protects Midgard stands still. Rather than fight, and though it pains me to say this, I believe that our—and Midgard’s—best chance is to offer their people sanctuary here. It would increase our numbers, yes, but we have plenty of land.”

“Not enough to feed and house two kingdoms!” someone cried out.

Loki frowned at the councilman, unable to place his name, though he recognized the man as having been close to Odin. Reaching for his quill, he dashed off a short note and attempted to slide it beneath Thor’s arm. To his vexation, Thor merely glanced at the note before standing, pulling Loki up beside him.

“My brother has thoughts on this matter that I should like you to hear. Listen well, members of this council, for in my brother is my closest, most trusted confidant.”

There were several noises of discontent, but when Loki met Councilman Branstock’s gaze, he found the same open, encouraging expression that Thor wore. It was nerve-wracking to stand before the group of men, many of whom had made no attempt at hiding their dislike of him, but where he would have faltered before, he now found himself gaining strength in the solid press of Thor’s shoulder to his own.

“Unbeknownst to all save the Lady Queen, King Odin was in talks with Nidavellir’s king. As some of you may know, the dwarves have grown in number over the last few decades, some spilling over into Svartalfheim’s territory. While the two have their own truce in place, the land of Svartalfheim is not welcoming toward dwarf magic. Midgard’s land, however, is rich in leylines and the soil is thick enough that they could build their underground homes without risk of having them cave in. More to the point, they have the magic and strength necessary to keep Muspelheim from overreaching her bounds.

“The suggestion, then, Council members, is that we offer sanctuary here to Midgard while Nidavellir moves to protect the land that lies between Vanaheim and Muspelheim.”

A great many shouts went up as Loki sat down, but he turned them out in favor of focusing on the whiteness of his knuckles and the way in which his hand shook. Thor called for order twice before the council members settled down.

“I would not ask you to make such a decision right now. Confer amongst yourselves, speak with the representatives from your lands and hear their thoughts on the matter. We will meet again after the coronation.” At the outraged look on several faces, Thor smiled. “I will take my leave now, as I have other matters to which I must attend.”

Thor pushed back his chair, not waiting to hear any further arguments. Before Loki could join him, he was stopped by a hand on his arm, and he turned to see Branstock there, smiling.

“It is good to see you taking an active role in the meetings. Thor has much respect for your thoughts, and his gift for speech has improved through your help I am sure.”

Loki shook his head. “My brother has always possessed certain skills when it comes to his words, but before now, he has lacked the motivation to use them.”

It was Branstock’s turn to disagree, and he tightened his grip upon Loki’s arm. “Perhaps, but it is when you are at his side that he truly flourishes. Do not discredit yourself, Your Highness. You have great influence where your brother is concerned, and so far, I have seen you only use it for good. He is smart to keep his confidence in you.” He glanced up and over Loki’s shoulder, and smiled. “And I see that he is impatient to have you join him. I shall let you go. A good evening to you both, Your Highness.”

He was gone before Loki could form a reply, the rest of the councilmen filing out of the room after him and leaving Loki to face Thor alone. When he drew up alongside Thor, he stopped.

“You were speaking with Councilman Branstock. I am glad to see he supports you still.”

“Did you think he would not?” Loki asked as they began to walk.

Thor shrugged. “It is hard to tell with some people. He has always seemed fair-minded where you are concerned. I am glad he has remained so. There are a few who are less that discreet in their feelings toward you, however, and I will have words with them on the matter. Three are past the age of retirement, and though father was of mind to keep them on, I am not.”

“Thor, you cannot just dismiss member of the council.”

“Ah, but there you are wrong, brother. I believe they do the council a great disservice as a whole, and wish to remedy the situation before it becomes more intolerable. I will wait until after the coronation, but I have spoken with mother about it already and she agrees that it is the correct step.” Thor’s hand caught hold of Loki’s and he squeezed. “Though it angers me to see them so dismissive of you, that it is not the only reason I am doing this. Several times before they have stopped father from changing laws that are too outdated for our times. I will not see Asgard held back on the whim of five old men who overestimate their worth.

“Now, enough of such unpleasant talk. Speak to me of these plans you have been making, for I fear my ‘peaceful celebration,’ has grown into something far more grand that I was anticipating.”

Though Thor’s words appeared dissatisfied, his tone was teasing and there was laughter in his eyes. It was enough to ease some of the worry Loki had had over his plans for the coronation, and he launched into a lecture on some of his more outrageous ideas as they headed for Frigga’s new quarters. For just a moment, Loki allowed himself to forget everything else and lost himself to the deep rumble of Thor’s laugh.


	15. Chapter 15

It was almost another fortnight before Loki was able to steal away to the burial chamber and less than a day since the coronation. He had thought the need to make peace, or at the very least, say his piece, had passed, but his nights were still as long as ever, sleep alluding him except for the brief hours just before dawn. His appetite had diminished enough that Thor was now constantly watching his every bite, and the very mention of Odin’s name was enough to have Loki either on the brink of tears or on the edge of a magic-fueled fury.

Thor had made excuses after their lunch together, citing a need to visit with his friends. Loki had encouraged him to go, aware that Thor saw them rarely anymore. Fandral complained of it often enough, though always in good nature, and Loki knew it would do them all some good to escape the attention of the council and the citizens. To that end, he had suggested they meet in Frigga’s solar room, where few ventured.

It was surprising, therefore, when Loki passed by Lady Sif on his way to the chambers beneath the castle. He did not think she had noticed him, caught up as she was in a conversation with another woman, so he spared her little thought. The only person who knew where he was going was Delling, who had been instructed to tell no one else. When he reached his destination, Loki stopped and closed his eyes, taking a deep, cleansing breath before closing the short distance to the door.

Loki stood at the entrance of the burial chamber, knuckles white as he gripped the doorframe. The candles were in their final stages of burning, the flames flickering as they drew nearer to the melted wax. The shadows they cast were nightmarish to Loki’s mind, and he had half a mind to leave. The need to say his piece, however, was stronger than his desire to escape, and so he made his way into the room, his eyes never leaving the stone likeness of Odin trapped in death.

It was a custom Loki had never understood, to capture this last moment in marble forever, the state of death of all Asgard’s kings. He shivered as he drew up beside the coffin, reaching out to place a trembling hand upon the cool stone. He could not bring himself to touch his false-father’s likeness, choosing, instead, to curl his fingers around the hard edge of the coffin’s lid.

“What will Asgard do, now that Her king has fallen? Who shall lead her people? Her too-young prince? The queen you left behind? And what of me, oh fallen father? Shall I remain here, in a land that is not my own, alongside the very people who would see me dead should my heritage come to light?” He brought his palm down hard against the stone hard enough to sting as he shouted, “Answer me, damn you!”

The tears came then, a week too late, burning twin paths down his cheeks. He closed his eyes against them, fighting to regain control of turbulent emotions running rampant within him. When he spoke again, his voice wavered despite his efforts.

“Do you want to know why I did it? Because I wished for you to see me. I wanted only for you to acknowledge me in some way, to turn eyes toward _me_. I had no doubt in my mind that you would protect your people against Laufey’s men, but me—you could hardly bear to look upon me for more than a moment. The men I traded information with, I had no idea it would come to this, a declaration of war. Too soon, all will know that it was I who brought this upon Asgard. And for that—for that I am sorry. And while I feel little sorrow for your loss myself, it pains me to know that I am the reason behind my brother’s sadness.”

As he turned to leave, he caught a glimpse of a small, delicate box from the corner of his eye. It was familiar, though why he was not sure. With a wary glance at the doorway, he knelt down, hand hovering over the lid of the stained wood box. He hesitated to open it, but his curiosity got the best of him.

The second the box was open, a lilting melody began to play. It was one he knew too well, having played it himself on numerous occasions—having _recorded_ the damned thing some years ago. He lifted the box with care, turning it over in his hands until the base was revealed. Etched into the wood was his name and beneath that, the date he had recorded the tune. It was from some five years past, a gift for the newborn daughter of a neighboring kingdom. It had taken him a week to master the spell, and he had been quite pleased with himself. Odin had expressed the great thanks of the king and queen, but it was clear, then, that the box had never left Asgard, let alone the palace.

Loki was so lost in thought he did not hear the footsteps behind him. It was not until a hand settled on his shoulder that he looked up, hiding his surprise. Frigga’s gaze landed on the enchanted box and she smiled.

“I know he never told you how much he enjoyed your music, but this was his favorite.”

“He said the box was to be a gift for Princess Ruaera.”

“And it was, until he heard the song you had placed within it. He would stand outside your rooms in the evening, listening to you play. As precious as the gift was, when it came time to deliver the box to Queen Sha’yn, he suffered a great change of heart. I do not recall what he sent in its stead, but that box has remained beside his bed ever since.”

Frigga knelt beside him, her hand still resting upon his shoulder. When he looked at her, _really_ looked, he could see her grief etched into every line of her face, and he turned away, pain and guilt sharp in his heart. Her fingers squeezed gently.

“Your father was an imperfect man, I know, and I am sorry for the heartache he has caused you.”

“Do not be. I only wish—” He broke off, unsure of what he wanted to say.

“He knew you loved him,” she said into the silence.

Just like that, Loki’s anger at Odin returned, burning twice as brightly as before. He stood suddenly, wrenching himself free from her grasp, and turned cold eyes upon the woman he had called mother for so long.

“I am certain that, at the very least, he knew exactly how I felt, and I can promise you, mother, that it was far from loving. He was a fool to ride off to face Laufey’s men, but a greater one to think his deceit would bear no consequences.”

He left her with those final words ringing through the room, storming out and down the darkened corridors. The sound of her tears, the choked sob as she closed the enchanted musical box, caused only the slightest waver in his steps. He broke into a run as he neared the stairs, taking them two and three at a time, not stopping until he was at Thor’s door. He did not wait for an answer to his knock but shoved the door open and rushed forward, only to stumble to a standstill when he saw Jane seated on the floor, her head upon Thor’s shoulder, his arms about her shoulders.

Loki’s eyes widened at the sight of them together, and the betrayal that swept through him threatened to bring him to his knees then and there. He took one faltering step back, and then another, gaze shifting between their faces. Thor looked first surprised, then ashamed, though he did not release his hold on Jane. Rather, it was Jane who spoke, her tone pleading.

“Loki, please. Wait—”

He had had enough of waiting, enough of the lies the House of Odin had delivered him. Ignoring her outstretched hand, Loki spun on his heel and dashed from the room, the door slamming shut behind him. It required only a simple spell to hold it there, to ensure that no one came after him too soon, and he used that time to return to his own rooms.

Desperate for an outlet for his fury, Loki reached for the first thing he could, hand curving around the fingerboard of his violin. With a cry of outrage, he raised it above his head and brought it down upon the table with a terrible crash. The wood flew apart in splinters, one of them catching him just beneath the eye. The pain was little more than a sting, and not enough to distract him from the destructive force behind his actions. When there nothing left of the violin but a mess of tangled strings and fractured wood, he cast it aside and reached for the bow. He snapped it over his knee, but even that was not enough.

Unable to hold his magic at bay any longer, Loki let it rage throughout the room, feeling a cold satisfaction as the curtains tore themselves from the windows and bed, as his table upended and the standing mirror exploded. He could feel the bite of glass along his arms, nearly fell twice when chunks of furniture slammed into him, but when the storm finally calmed and the dust settled, he was the only thing still standing in all the chaos.

It was when a hand— _Thor’s_ hand—took hold of his own that the last of Loki’s strength left him. His legs buckled, and this time he lacked the ability to remain standing under his own power. Where his magic had filled his veins with fire just moments before, ice followed, and he gasped for breath as it threatened to cut off his supply of air. Even so, when Thor’s lips pressed against his own, Loki did not push him away. He sighed instead, and clung to the heat centered within Thor, pulling it into himself. His last thought as he drifted off was that surely Thor would leave him soon, when Jane was in the room next door, awaiting him.

He closed his eyes, and wished, once more, never to open them again.

**. . .**

When Loki woke, he was alone in his bed and the room was dark. He lay there collecting his thoughts, unwilling to move just yet. He was unaware of Thor’s presence, therefore, until the soft rustling of clothing gave him away.

“How long have I been asleep?” Loki inquired, voice rough.

“For nearly a day. Tell me it is a lie, Loki.”

Pushing himself upright with a sigh, Loki said, “I would have to know that which you speak of in order to discern the truth of the words.”

Thor moved with greater speed than Loki had anticipated, reaching across the bed to take his shoulders in a biting grip. “Do not play your word games with me, _brother_. Sif followed you into town some nights past. You met a man in lower town.”

Loki fought to ease the racing of his heart and maintain a bland expression. “There are many who live in lower town. That I met with a man is of little consequence. Unless…” He tilted his head to look up at Thor through his lashes. “Unless your concern is for my virtue.”

“You met—have been meeting—with a Jötunn,” Thor snarled. He shoved Loki away hard enough to send him sprawling over his bed. “And then you led him into the palace to steal from our vaults.”

“Now _that_ is a lie!”

“Is it? But you do not deny you met with a Jötunn? You have been stealing from our vaults for them? I did not believe Sif when she told me of the conversation she had overheard, but now, brother...”

If Loki could go back and undo all the wrong he had committed, he would have done so then, if for no other reason than to erase the look of disgust on Thor’s face. The person from whom Loki wanted never to fall from grace was staring at him now as though he were lowest of criminals. In truth, Loki’s actions had led to his own father’s death, marking him a kinslayer. By all rights, Thor could have his head and Loki would have no defense, no right to beg forgiveness. The thought left him cold, and in the wake of that, Loki did what he knew best: he buried his regret as far down as he could, wrapping himself in cold disdain as he moved to stand.

“And why not? The relics taken were stolen from their lands, pillaged from the temples of Jotunheim when the great King Odin led his army into Laufey’s realm. They took nothing that was not already theirs.”

Thor’s gaze narrowed, and his tone, when he spoke, was dangerous, frightening. “Those artifacts were magical in nature, removed from the Jötunns to keep them from decimating entire kingdoms with their greed for power. Because of your actions, brother, Asgard is without Her king and defenseless in the face of Her enemies. Laufey has granted us entrance into his lands so that we may meet—”

“He would kill you where you stand!”

“Unfortunately, my brother, it is a risk I must take. For the well-being of my people, I must now beg mercy from the ice king.”

“He will show you none. If it is the relics you wish returned, I will see it done. It would be an easy thing, brother, to rearrange the thoughts of any Jötunn I meet to convince him—”

If there had been a moment when it appeared Thor’s fury had dimmed, the mere mention of Loki using magic had it returning full-force. He stepped back involuntarily, eyes widening when Thor’s hand went to the hilt of his sword.

“You have done enough damage, Loki. To use your magic on a Jötunn in hopes of convincing him to steal back what you allowed them to take from us in the first place would be a declaration of war. No, I ride out for King Laufey’s castle at sunrise. It would show an acknowledgement of remorse on your part, should you accompany my knights and I on our journey.”

There was little Loki would not do to show his brother just how greatly he regretted his duplicity, but to venture into the lands of Jotunheim, to put within Laufey’s reach the very thing he desired most—Loki’s magic—he could not. For as surely as Loki wished never to do his brother harm, Laufey would seize the opportunity to strike down not only all of Asgard but all the other peaceful realms as well, his estranged son his weapon of destruction. Even if it meant losing what remained of Thor’s regard, Loki knew he must refuse.

“I cannot.”

Thor stared at him for several seconds, face expressionless. Then the blue of his eyes grew as cold as the winter’s ice, no warmth left to soothe the ache in Loki’s soul. “So be it.” He turned and headed for the door, pausing at the threshold. Without turning, he said, “Goodbye, brother, though I hope this will not be our last exchange.”

Then he was gone, leaving Loki to face his demons alone.

**. . .**

When Frigga found him, he was standing at the window of Thor’s bedroom, staring down at the empty courtyard below. He was unaware of her presence, lost within his own thoughts until she cleared her throat and spoke.

“He loves you dearly, you know. Even now, knowing what he does about your recent actions.”

Loki could feel his lips curl in disdain, and he did not bother to hide his feelings, though he refused to turn around. “He cared not for me, but for the hope that I would one day be of use to him.”

She turned him with a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to face her, to see the pained expression upon her face. “I meant Thor,” she said. Her voice was gentle, her words sincere enough to sting. “Your brother—Thor loves you far more than you give him credit. We all do, though you seem blind to it, now. Your father made a mistake, one he did not think would have as grave of consequences as it has, but never doubt _my_ love for you, or Thor’s.”

“And which mistake might _that_ be, oh mother? In taking me from my land, my people, and bringing me here against my will? Or perhaps it was in leading me to believe I was his son, a child genuinely wanted by his parents, when in truth, I was little more than tool?”

“In not telling you sooner of your origins. Your fa—Odin is not the enemy. You must see that.”

There was no containing the sharp, bitter laugh that escaped. “I see that when an old man discovered his war trophy was less than satisfactory, he ceased to take heed of it unless it was to dole out punishment or point out flaws.”

“He treated you no different than Thor—” Frigga began, then lapsed into silence.

Loki could see the play of emotions dancing over her features and wondered if she had only just taken note of her unintended lie. He watched with a degree of satisfaction as her resolve wavered. Before she could find a way to cover her words, Loki cut in.

“He treated me as he would have a stray child picked up off the streets. Not as a son, but as something of lesser value. For the last twelve years, I wondered just what I had done to earn my father’s disregard, but now, at long last, all is clear.”

Frigga regarded him silently for several long moments, her gaze unwavering and searching, as though she was looking straight into his soul. He wondered if she found him as lacking as Odin had, especially now that all of his sins had been laid bare. Then he thought of Thor, of the roughness of his hands and the warmth of his breath against Loki’s skin, and he could no help but smirk. Not all of his sins had been exposed, not yet.

She chose that moment to speak, her voice startling Loki from his thoughts.

“Do you remember when you were ill? You could not have been more than six years old, frail with a sickness no physician within Asgard could comprehend, let alone treat. We thought you were going to be lost to us. I remember how Odin would pace the corridor outside your room, venturing in to check on you frequently throughout the day.

“Finally, after nearly three weeks of you lying unmoving in your bed, your body cold as ice and as blue as the sea in summer, even though we could mark each of your breaths, Odin relented and sent for a physician who lived just along the border between Asgard and Jotunheim.”

Against his better judgment, Loki found himself moving closer, his attention ensnared by a memory so distant it was as though he was viewing it through a heavy fog. He recalled, vaguely, the presence of many people in his rooms, hands too hot touching his skin and then...

“The sickness came from your magic. Until then, Odin had refused to allow tutelage of your powers, for fear that you would begin to question your heritage. Magic has always been present in all the lands, and long ago, when we were united under one ruler, the ability to wield it was designated to a select few: the emperor’s council. As happens in all times where there is a division of power, an outcry of injustice went up, and the eight lords who stood on the counsel fought. There was nothing to be done, no middle ground or peace to be made, and thus the empire fell. In its place rose the seven kingdoms as we now know them to be, the eighth lord choosing to align his people with the then All Father.

“Of those seven, Jotunheim, Svartalfheim, Musphelheim immersed themselves into the magic of their lands, draining much of it into themselves. Asgard, Vanaheim, and Alfheim have chosen sorcerers, a scant few charged with protecting our people from the might of the others. Midgard removed itself from magic completely, choosing instead a new system of belief. They moved far from our lands, casting aside all knowledge of magic in favor of science. The distance between us protected them for many generations from the magic of our lands. As of late, however, the damage wrought by their closest neighbors, Muspelheim, has created energy holes, causing great havoc among our simpler-lived cousins.

History lesson though it was, Loki found himself intrigued. He knew that once upon a time, all of the lands had been one, but what had torn them apart was not to be found in history books. It was a secret kept by Heimdall, Odin’s All Seer. Even now, he could sense that Frigga was not imparting all of the truth.

“Cousin Jane, and her lady-in-waiting, Darcy. That is why they are here?”

“Midgard is at risk of complete destruction if the people of Musphelheim are not stopped. Even as we speak, Jotunheim lends them their strength to drain the magic that keeps all our lands flourishing.”

Loki made to move away, but Frigga’s hold on his wrist tightened. “What has this to do with me?” he asked at last.

“The Jotunheim are tied closely to their land, linked by the magic that runs through their very blood. It was said once, that without magic, the Jötunns would perish, for it is what keeps their blood pumping and their bodies alive, if lacking in warmth. The physician who attended you was shocked that you had survived as long as you had, cut off as you were from magic. You had not been taught to tap into the leylines, and as such, every breath you took drained just a little bit more of your magic. You were dying from a sickness we did not understand.” There was a suggestion in her tone that that was not all the physician had said.

“And yet I lived still. A pity and a decision I am certain you regret now.” He hated the bitterness in his tone, but there was little point in hiding it now.

“How could I regret both of my children living, regardless of the mistakes they have made, when you have each brought me such joy over the years?”

“Do not lie to me!” Furious, he jerked his arm free of her grasp and stepped back. The desire to strike back at her, to reach for the power within him, frightened Loki in a way he had not imagined possible. He curled his fingers into a fist, and thought of the low, steady thrum of Thor’s voice. Of how he would recreate it with music, bring it to life with magic. Only when he was certain he could speak without giving himself away did he ask,

“How, pray tell, were you able to save me if not with magic?”

Frigga’s next words chilled him to the bone. “We did not.”

On impulse, he glanced down. Loki knew he was real, could feel still the bruises on his arms from where Thor had gripped him last, and he wondered if this was yet another deception. “Then how—?”

“Thor,” Frigga said. The gentleness of her tone was a crushing weight against his soul. “The physician insisted that the only way to save you was to return you to Jotunheim. At first, Odin refused. He was certain they would kill you the moment we crossed the border. He sent the physician away, then disappeared into the throne room, refusing to meet with anyone but Heimdall. I stayed by your side during the days, and at night, I would take my place by my husband.

“Do you remember, just before you fell ill, you and Thor had a terrible falling out? You called each vicious names, denounced one another as brothers and he swore that when he became king, he would cast you out. He said you had betrayed him greatly, though he would not speak of the incident directly. While you were unconscious, Thor would visit you as often as Odin would allow, sneaking in at other times, when he thought we were unaware. On the night the physician declared you beyond hope, I took Thor aside and explained to him what was happening. That he must make his peace with you, once and for all.

“I had never before seen that boy weep as he did then, nor have I since, not until yesterday. He cried until he was sick, and when Odin attempted to chastise him, Thor called his father a kinslayer.”

Loki could feel the blood drain from his face, and his fingers trembled. “Surely Odin did not—He was a child.”

“I believe the guilt Odin bore from his choices was all that spared Thor the punishment his words would otherwise have incurred. I was torn between comforting my child and sharing the weight of my husband’s remorse. In the end, I chose to remain by Odin’s side, leaving Thor to cry out his misery alone.”

Callous as her choice had been, Loki found it hard to fault her. Found it nearly impossible to remain angry with her at all, for every memory he had of his mother was a bright and beautiful thing. But the thought of Thor alone, crying and lost because their words had been ones of hatred was enough for him to overcome what little compassion he allowed himself to feel.

“So I am not the only son to be cast aside. It is heartening to know.”

The blow struck as intended, and Frigga flinched visibly. “When I—when I thought to check on him, he was not in his rooms. I feared, at first, that he had run off, possibly to the barns. It was a feeling, a faint suspicion that led me to your door, and when I gazed in upon you, do you know what I found?”

“I am certain you will tell me shortly,” Loki said, his lazy tone deliberate in its deceptiveness.

“I found my sons intertwined upon your bed. Thor’s body wrapped tight around your own, your heads upon the same pillow and your breaths shared between you. For just a moment, I was afraid that Odin would appear at my shoulder and see you as well, that he would snatch Thor away from you. But then...but then I discovered something even greater.”

“And what was that?” Loki asked. He could not help but drop his voice to a hushed whisper, some sense of fragility in the air driving him to do so.

“When I laid my hand upon your cheek, your skin was warm, almost hot to the touch. The coldness that had come so close to stealing you away from us was leaving. _That_ is when Odin found us all, and though I could sense his disapproval, it was clear to me that he was also greatly relieved. In light of your brush with death, it was arranged for you to learn the ways of your people. A tutor was brought in, one who had knowledge of the Jotunheim’s customs, and your schooling began.

“Odin never inquired as to why Thor alone could bring you back from the brink of death, but for all that he was against such closeness as that between the two of you, knowing that it meant you would live, that you were safe...He could see no other alternative.”

“Why? Why Thor?”

“Before the great strife, all of our people lived in harmony. The magic that flows within the land requires a balance, one who wields, and one who channels. Without a channel, the magic becomes corrupt, impure. For too long, the kingdoms of Jotunheim, Muspelheim and Svartalfheim have exercised their abilities with no balance. They have been driven mad by it, their very souls consumed by the unchecked power at their disposal. More than that, they have come to depend upon the magic just as much as the air they breathe. Without it, they would die. With it... they remain on the brink of death, cruel, heartless puppets, whose very existence relies upon their constant use of magic. Thor—Thor is your balance. He is the channel through which your magic is fed. His very love for you is all that stands between you and the darkness that has consumed your people.”

Though a part of him wanted to reject the very suggestion, a larger part could see the truth in her words. Even as he struggled to assimilate her words, Frigga pressed on.

“As the years have passed since the great divide, so have the populations of the magic-based kingdoms decreased, Jotunheim’s in particular. Though great in strength, their numbers have dwindled. No more are they as vast an army as once they were. Their power has come at a great price: their ability to produce living offspring. One in every three babes in Jotunheim is stillborn, and of the surviving two, only one will have the ability to wield magic. They are dying because they allow so few outsides into their kingdom, determined as they are not to weaken the magical bloodlines through poor breeding, and in many cases, just keeping the child alive through pregnancy and birth costs the mother her magic, if not her life.”

“And I? What of me, mother? What of the son you stole who wields magic? I am a _prince_ among my people. For all you know, you have taken away their only salvation!” His rage simmered up once more, so fierce it startled even him.

“You were hidden away in a temple, as Odin told you. You were to be kept there, raised alongside the greatest source of Jotunheim’s power in the hopes that, when the time came, your own magic would be made stronger from the constant feed of energy. King Laufey’s intent—”

“Was to kill me when I was of age, my magic at its prime for harvesting,” Loki concluded. The book had not lied, though he had hoped it was not so.

“Yes. The Jötunns kept record of a prophecy, of a great son whose sacrifice would give way to a land of greater power. Odin did not steal you, he _saved_ you.”

“And in return, I killed him.” The fight left him then, bleeding out in a bittersweet melody for his ears alone.

“You are no more responsible for his death than Thor. Odin met with King Laufey’s messenger despite knowing that it was a trap. His fate was determined long before this war started, as was yours.”

Loki laughed, the sound hollow and pained. “My fate.”

Frigga smiled, reaching for him once more and drawing Loki down beside her. “Thor is your destiny, Loki. That is what I mean say. I know you love him—”

“Do you? _Do you know?_ Tell me, _mother_ , did you _know_ that until less than a week ago, he and I shared a bed. Your sons. Raised for our entire lives to believe we were _brothers_. And yet. Did you know that the night _our father_ went out to face his so-called destiny, your beloved son was on his knees—”

She struck far faster than he had given her credit for, and his head snapped to the side as the crack resounded throughout the room.

“How dare you,” she said, low and dangerous. “How dare you debase what he felt—what he _feels_ —for you! How could a mother not know? Of course I did. I knew even before you did what was growing between the two of you. What was I to do? Tear you apart when already your entire world was crumbling around you?” Her voice softened, and she cupped his still-tender cheek in her palm. “Or perhaps I should have dragged you both before Odin and allowed him to destroy this precious gift you share? Odin would have been blind to all but what he interpreted as a betrayal. He would have sent you away, just to keep you two apart and I could not bear the thought. Not when I knew, not when I could _see_ just how truly happy Thor made you.”

“Oh, yes. And happy I was, until just recently when my eyes were opened. I was little more than a shameful secret, hidden from all he called dear. He told me—he told me, that when he was king, I could remain by his side. By his _right_ side. His queen, would sit at his left, and at night, while she dutifully awaited her husband, he would slip into my rooms. How else am I to interpret _that_ , mother, than as an affirmation that I am nothing but a disgrace.”

The air around them crackled with tension as Frigga tilted Loki’s face toward her own. “Do you think so unkindly of your brother, that he would say such a thing out of shame? Thor loves you more than any other in this world, and if you do not know that, then there is little hope left for you. You have borne much upset over these last few weeks, Loki, but all this time, I was certain of one thing: that you knew of the high regard in which Thor holds you. You think him ashamed of your relations, but that could not be further from the truth.

“Thor came to me, just after Odin fell, to declare his intention to keep you here. He swore to me that King Laufey would fall by his hand, and that Jotunheim as it is known now would be no more. That from its ashes, there would be a new kingdom, one in which both of our people would be united as before, and you— _you_ , Loki—would hold the throne beside him.

“For years I have stood at your father’s left, a position not of power, but still of status. I cannot rule, not in the kingdom of Asgard. To hold a place at the king’s right is a great privilege. Not,” she added, “that there is any wrong in being seated to his left. But Thor wishes to rule with you, Loki. No other. He is not even certain he wishes to take a queen, heirs to the throne or not, because he does not wish you to ever doubt just how much he cares for you.”

The guilt that came then was instantaneous and crushing, his very soul in pain as he finally understood what Thor had been saying. What Loki had rejected. He had turned away his brother’s offer to rule their kingdoms together. Had let Thor ride off to face Laufey’s army alone, when they stood no chance against the sheer might of Jotunheim’s magic.

“When did they ride out?” he asked, voice cracking. He stood, not bothering to hide the tears dampening his lashes. “When!”

Frigga had yet to let go of his hand, and she stood with him then, grip tight. “The day before yesterday, at dawn. You were nowhere to be found, though he wished to see you one last time.”

“Do I not already hurt enough for you? Have I not been punished all these years?” He had not been, choosing instead to lock himself away in the inner sanctuary of the castle. He regretted with all of his heart the anger that had left him unable to face Thor. Loki closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before one more meeting Frigga’s gaze. “Who still remains here?”

“Hogun, Volstagg, Lady Sif and at least half the knights. It was Thor’s wish that should the worst come to fall, we should flee the kingdom. Alfheim has offered us sanctuary from King Laufey’s army should we require it.”

“Tell them we leave in an hour. No more than twenty men in all.”

“Lady Sif is just as likely to cut you down where you stand,” Frigga said, censure thick in her words.

“Then my lady shall have to stay her sword until we have returned Thor to his throne. Should we succeed, only he may choose my fate. Should we fail...” His gaze went to the window, straining towards the borders of Jotunheim and Asgard. “Should we fail, my life will be forfeit.” He had a thought then, and he voiced it, despite the fear of her response. “What of Lady Jane? I believed her to be betrothed to Thor?”

Frigga’s smile was gentle. “And when Odin accepted her into his House, it was understood that a marriage was likely between the two. However, Lady Jane’s heart belongs to young Fandral, and he did not wish to cause our dear cousin any suffering. Should Fandral survive, he will ask Thor’s permission to marry Lady Jane.”

Loki nodded, pained. The truth had always been there, but his own fear, anger and hatred had left him blind. He prayed it was not too late to right the wrongs he had committed.

“I know it is too much to ask for your forgiveness, but know that I mean it with all sincerity that I wish the king had not been slain. I wanted—”

“I know,” she said, stepping in close. In a move that left Loki stunned, Frigga pulled him into her arms, hugging him tight. “I will always love you, my son. Always. Now go. Your brother awaits you.”

Loki nodded. Before he stepped away, he pressed a kiss to Frigga’s cheek and knew that if he was never able to do so again, then at least he had this memory. Warm and forgiving, it would follow him into whatever life awaited him after this one. It carried him back to his rooms where he exchanged his clothing for those more suitable of someone intending to breach Jotunheim’s borders to rescue a king. It was not until he was ready to leave that Loki allowed himself to think of the probable outcome of his journey, and he had to brace himself against the thought of never returning to this castle.

His bags waiting at the door, Loki took a seat at his table and pulled out clean parchment, a quill and ink from the small chest on the floor. His hand was unsteady, and twice he had to start over, but when he was done, he sealed away the letters he had written. When he opened his door, Delling was standing in the alcove, half-asleep. He roused quickly when Loki called to him.

“Thor has been captured,” Loki began. “It was my doing, and I must go to Jotunheim to fetch him back. If I do not return, Delling, I wish you to give these to Thor and my mother. Can you do that for me?”

“Of course,” Delling said. His chin quivered, and in a move far more bold than Loki might have given him credit for, Delling embraced him. “But you should definitely come back.”

“I have made a very terrible mistake, Delling, one that has cost Asgard a great deal. It would be to her benefit if I did not.”

Delling’s expression grew thoughtful, and when he spoke, he sounded far older than his eight or nine years. “My father made a mistake once. He would have left us, but my mother said that no mistake is so great that family cannot love each other despite that.” He looked up, his gaze clear and determined. “Prince—King Thor, he would miss you.”

“Perhaps,” Loki agreed, “but not for long. Not forever. And I love my brother dearly, which is why I must do this.” He tucked the letters into Delling’s hands. “Guard them until such a time it becomes necessary to deliver them. My brother will keep you on in my stead, so do not worry about your place here in the castle.” Loki did not wait for a reply, striding away down the hall, his bags in hand. He had a king to save.


	16. Chapter 16

The knights made not a single sound, not even their armor, as they waded through the swamplands that lined Jotunheim. Loki had been careful when he had laid the protective spells over each man, aware that even the slightest fault could result in the death of them all. As they finally reached the cave that would lead them into the castle’s underbelly, he drew to a stop with one hand aloft, stilling the men. He scanned the forest with both eyes and magic, and finding no signs of Laufey’s guards, motioned the knights forward into the main cave.

“From this moment on, you must rely only upon yourselves. I cannot maintain the spell this close to our enemy, or I risk exposing us all. All of you would do well to take heed of my words. Laufey and his men are not known for their mercy. Give no quarter, for you shall receive none yourselves. Here we shall split into two groups, with the first following the tunnel straight ahead. It will lead you to the dungeons. If there are survivors, you will find them there. Once you have freed them, return the way you came. The second group will follow me to the throne room. Laufey’s guards are spread thin, but they are loyal. Let no man escape to warn the others.

“Volstagg, you and Hogun shall lead the first group—”

“And I shall travel with you. Your loyalties are yet unknown,” Lady Sif said, her voice hard and unforgiving.

Loki made no comment. There was nothing to be said in his defense, no way to refute her accusation, when her words were no less than the truth. It was because of Loki’s deceit that Thor was now in the hands of the enemy, and even if it meant the loss of his own life, Loki meant to see Thor freed.

They parted ways then, Volstagg glancing back once to stare at Loki. Only when the darkness had swallowed the last knight did Loki move toward the second tunnel. Though he had never traveled through the caves himself, Laufey’s spy had been detailed in his description. Enough so that Loki could mark their passage. But even without the partially hidden symbols scratched into the crevices of the rocks, Loki would have known his way. With every step they took, he could feel the magic of the land pulsing, singing out to him. Though it had started out thin, it was nonetheless strong and sharp, ringing out as clearly as any note he could play.

As they neared the throne room, Loki paused once more, his arm out to prevent Lady Sif from sweeping past him. He could feel the death in the magic here, could almost taste the acridness of it, and he feared what lay beyond the door.

“You would do well to remain out of sight. Laufey has made it very clear he will not hesitate to kill, be it friend or foe. I—”

His next words were cut off by the sound of approaching footsteps and the chilling clink of chains being dragged across stone. Though no one else moved, Loki stepped forward and opened the concealed door just enough to watch as Thor was led past their hiding spot. His face was battered and his clothes bloodstained, but for all of that, he was still walking of his own volition, his head held high.

“Fear not, brother. We have come for you,” Loki whispered, risking just the bit of magic necessary to carry the words to Thor’s ears alone. The telltale twitch of Thor’s hands was sign enough that he had been heard. 

Stepping back from the door, Loki turned to face Sif and the knights. He saw in their faces the strength of their newly crowned king, their determination and a love that Loki had once found laughable. He envied it now. The men and women who served their king would stay only long enough to see Thor to safety. Loki was no longer worthy in their eyes, his loyalty having been proven when he allowed Laufey’s men to infiltrate the castles defenses. The moment Thor was free, they would leave and Loki…Loki would be left to face his fate alone. It was, he knew, no more than he deserved, and he only hoped that his Lady Mother could someday forgive his transgressions.

“I will go in first and on my mark, you will follow.”

Lady Sif’s hand went to her sword and she drew it partway from its sheath. “And how can we be certain you will not expose us to Laufey’s men?”

“You cannot. Nor can you be certain I will not cut Thor down myself when I am close to him. A pity then, is it not, that no one here can guarantee my allegiance?”

His words had the desired, though not fully expected, result of causing Lady Sif to re-sheath her sword. “No one, save Thor. Of everyone in the kingdom, Thor has always had your loyalty. I will trust in _that_ , Silver-Tongued Trickster.”

Loki nodded. Opening the door only enough to let himself out, he smoothed a hand over his tunic. There were no guards to be seen, but that meant nothing. He knew they were there, their eyes sharp upon him. He touched the door with the tips of his fingers, willing it to remain shut no matter who should attempt to open it save those already on the other side.

It took him twenty-three long paces to reach the door to the throne room, and he paused outside, ignoring the two guards stationed there. He could feel their gazes upon him, knew them to be weighing their options. Holding his hand out flat, he brought his fingers together and blew gently across the tips. The coin Aakon had given him appeared, and he twirled it once before offering it to the guard to his left. He received only a nod of acknowledgement, and then the doors were opening.

It took every ounce of Loki’s not inconsiderable talent to keep his expression bland at the sight of Thor on his knees before Laufey, arms bound behind his back with a heavy rope looped through a hook in the floor. His shirt had been cut off and his chest was striped with blood. In the hand of one of Laufey’s men was a whip like no other, and Loki promised himself he would undo the damage it had wrought, should he survive this night.

The eyes of the Jötunns had remained on Thor right up until the moment Loki cleared his throat. The guards moved as one, their lethal curved swords aimed at his chest, but Loki paid them no mind as he met and held Laufey’s gaze.

“I see you received my gift,” Loki said, a smirk curling his lips up.

“And a generous gift at that...my son.” Laufey’s voice was low and gravelly, and Loki suppressed a shudder at the sound of it.

At Laufey’s words, a stillness settled over the entire room, and out of the corner of his eye, Loki saw Thor twitch. He felt a moment of regret that his brother had to learn the truth this way, but he shoved aside thoughts of anything that was not getting Thor away from Laufey alive. Later, if the Fates allowed it, Loki would make his apologies for his deception.

Loki bowed, a brief tilt of his shoulders and head, and stepped further into the room, his back to Thor. “I trust my _other_ gifts were delivered to you?” It was on the tip of his tongue to add ‘father,’ but the very thought made his blood run cold. For all that Odin had been distant and less affectionate with Loki, he was still the only man Loki could think of as such.

“They were.” He inclined his head, blood-red eyes never leaving Loki’s face. “It has been a long time since I have looked upon your face, Loki Laufeyson, stolen child and heir of Jotunheim. Come, take your place beside me and watch as I teach our prize what it means to become a captive of the Jötunns.”

“Mmm.” Loki turned, stepped up onto the dais and slid onto the cold stone chair beside Laufey. Up close, he could see the blue tinge to the king’s skin, a physical manifestation of the tainted magic flowing through his veins. This was what his mother had meant, about those who wielded the power needing a channel. His gaze slid to Thor, and he recalled how just a touch from his brother could make his magic sing.

Laufey chose that moment to lean in close, his breath frosty against Loki’s cheek. “And tell me, lost son, what thoughts go through your head as you look upon the man you were raised to call brother?”

A corner of Loki’s mouth curved up. “Arrogant, comes to mind. Brash. Irresponsible. By coming here, he has left Asgard without Her king and without an heir. Oh, wait!” He laughed, the sound hollow and cold. “How silly of me. _I_ am heir to the throne, should anything befall my brother.”

Laufey’s chuckle sent a sliver of fear snaking down Loki’s spine. “The blood of an Asgardian prince offers great power to our magic.”

“Does it?” Loki inquired. 

He stood once more, his pace slow as he moved to where Thor was kneeling. He met Thor’s questioning gaze and wished desperately that he could give some sign that not all was as it seemed. With a casual glance back at Laufey, Loki circled back behind him and dropped into a crouch. He fisted the dirty golden locks and used his grip to yank Thor’s head back. To his credit, Thor did not so much as flinch, though a faint tremor ran through his arms.

“Tell me, brother, how does it feel, to know your death will be at the hands of a Jötunn? At the hands of my _true_ people?” Loki whispered the words just loud enough for Laufey to hear, and used the cover of his long coat to slip a small knife into Thor’s hands. “It is a shame your death means more than your life. You would have made a pleasing pet.” 

As Loki stood, he shoved Thor’s head forward, remaining in place long enough to ensure that no one could see the slide of the knife through the rope. Assured that no one had discovered his treachery, Loki stepped away. He feigned a yawn as he moved to stand once more in front of Thor, then dropped his hands to his sides. His fingers tensed, curling into fists before straightening out, straining toward the ground.

Laufey sank back in his chair, head cocked to the side, his terrifying gaze locked on Loki. “Or perhaps he can be both? Asgardians are warriors; they were _made_ to bleed for our people, just as those of Vanaheim were created to serve Muspelheim. He is young and strong, my son. You could bleed him for years to come without needing to kill him to sate your magic.”

“Perhaps,” Loki agreed. “Or perhaps, Laufey, I prefer my brother’s blood exactly where it is: inside him.”

Loki moved to the side just as Thor leapt to his feet. Reaching for the magic pooled beneath the throne room floor, Loki pulled it inside himself, then threw it back out, killing the three men closest to him in a brilliant flash of blue-white light. The element of surprise worked in their favor long enough for Lady Sif and the knights to arrive, and then it was mayhem.

In the next moment, Loki cursed, having forgotten that Laufey was not the only Jötunn to be practiced in the art of sorcery. He deflected what he could as the Jötunn mages began their retaliation, but a large portion of his focus was on keeping Thor alive. He spared only the briefest of moments to shed his coat in spite of the chill creeping through his blood. Already, the cold of the unfiltered magic made his blood run sluggish, and he stumbled twice in his effort to reach Laufey.

Without looking away from his blood-father, Loki shouted, “You must retreat now. The castle is beginning to cave in!”

“Knights!” Sif roared, but before she could finish her order, a Jötunn guard dropped from the balcony above, his sword flashing. The blow meant to kill her struck Thor instead when he shoved Sif aside, and he went down, the Jötunn following.

“No!” Loki reached, his magic snapping out of him to rip the Jötunn away, flinging the guard into a far wall. The crunch of his body making impact was lost in Loki’s cry of outrage. “Get him out of here,” he ordered Sif.

Laufey chose that moment to strike, a blast of ice-cold magic slamming into Loki and sending him sprawling across the floor. From his disadvantageous point he could see the knights dragging a barely conscious Thor from the room. At the door, Sif turned and met his gaze, only a flicker of regret shining in her eyes before she followed the rest of the knights, leaving Loki to his fate.

Loki managed to regain his footing just as Laufey reached his side, and he tensed. He had released his magic back into the foundation of the castle, but he was ready to pull it back to him at a moment’s notice.

“You are a traitor to your own people,” Laufey said, fury making his words sharp. He took hold of Loki’s face, his fingers biting into the soft skin of Loki’s cheeks. There was not a sound to be heard but the wet _pop_ of Laufey’s nails as they slid into Loki’s flesh. “That you, my heir, would choose to align yourself with the House of Asgard...” He spit on the ground and the castle walls shook with answering rage. “Their ways have corrupted you,” he said at last. 

He leaned in closer, and it took Loki a full minute to understand what Laufey was doing. Too late, he made to clear his mind, to bury all thoughts of his brother. Loki felt sickened at Laufey’s knowing smirk. 

“I am not the only one you have betrayed. Tell me, my son, what was it like to seduce the man who called you brother and believed it?”

Shame burned through Loki, and he used it, allowed it to fuel his hatred for Jotunheim’s king as he reached once more for his magic.


	17. Chapter 17

They were nearly to the palace stables when Thor realized that Loki was still inside the castle. He stumbled to a halt, dizzy but determined.

“No. We will not leave him here.”

“His lies killed King Odin,” Sif replied. “His punishment has been chosen. We must leave now. It is only a matter of time before the guards find us.”

“Too late, me thinks,” Volstagg said, moving to stand at her side. He nodded toward the growing line of Jötunns and the knights shifted to stand closer together. “But look,” he added. “We are outnumbered, five to one, and yet no one attacks.”

“Why would they?” Hogun grumbled. “They have magic. It would take nothing more than a word to kill us all where we stand.”

“And yet,” Thor noted, grim. “And yet they do not. Instead they wait. But for what?”

His answer came a moment later when an explosion startled everyone into looking toward the castle. The very ground beneath them heaved, the trees groaning under the strain of what Thor realized was the first in a series of waves of magical backlash. Someone screamed as the second wave hit, and Thor realized with a horrifying jolt that the magic was being literally _ripped_ from the earth. If it continued, all of Jotunheim would be destroyed, the neighboring villages along with them. Just then, one of the castle’s towers collapsed, and like that, Thor was prompted into action.

“Loki!” His strength was renewed as his brother’s peril became clear. Pulling free of Sif, he began to run, snatching a sword out of the air when it was tossed to him.

“You are a fool,” Sif snapped as she ran at his side.

“You are not required to follow me.”

Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him. “You are an even greater fool to think we would abandon you now.”

Rather than reply to that, Thor focused on not collapsing as he dashed back up the steps and into the castle. Another blast of magic swept through, threatening to knock everyone off their feet, but this one was weaker and lasted only half as long. His heart lurched, and Thor put everything he had into closing the distance between he and Loki.

The throne room was farther than he recalled, and by the time they reached it, they were subjected to two more waves of magic, each smaller than the last. Several of the knights were sick, unaccustomed as they were to such power moving through them. It was familiar enough to Thor, who had spent much of his childhood hand-in-hand with Loki as spells were being cast to make shadows dance and music play without an instrument. Though Thor knew without a doubt that it was Loki’s magic they were feeling, it had taken on a darker quality, and his heart clenched at the thought of what that meant.

It was like a nightmare come true when Thor did finally cross the threshold of the throne room. Laufey’s mages—and guards—were dead, their bodies little more than husks as their blood and magic seeped into the stone floor of the castle. Of the twenty Jötunns who had been in the room, only Laufey remained standing, Loki’s dagger imbedded deep inside his chest. He snarled when he caught sight of Thor, raised his hand no doubt with the intent of finishing what he had begun, but Thor was quicker. With a shout, he swung the borrowed sword and sent Laufey’s head sailing through the air.

The sword clattered as it hit the floor and the walls seized, stones crumbling as finally the castle began to give way. Thor ignored it all, stumbling over to where Loki lay, still and cold. His skin had taken on the bluish hue of Jotunheim’s fallen king, a sign of magic poisoning. There was no time to think on that, though, not with the castle tumbling down around their heads. Gathering Loki into his arms, Thor staggered to his feet once more. Volstagg was there in a heartbeat, lending his strength as they made the long dash to safety.

In the courtyard, Thor lowered Loki to the ground, as gently as possible. When he searched, there was no pulse to be found, no breath to warm his fingers. The part of Thor that had held some hope he was not too late broke, and he reached for his brother, thumbs brushing over the wounds that decorated Loki’s cheeks.

“Do not leave me now, brother,” Thor begged. Loki remained silent and still, no life to warm the color back into his skin. Unashamed of the tears on his cheeks, Thor pulled Loki into his arms and pressed their cheeks together. “If you leave me now, like this, I swear to you, brother, I will follow you into the afterlife and drag you back. Your time has not come, not yet.”

Behind him, Sif gasped. “Thor, his face. Look—look at his face.”

Startled, Thor drew back and choked on a half-formed sob of laughter. Where his tears had fallen, Loki’s skin was pink, flushed with the color of life.

“Yes, brother,” he said. “Live.”

Later, Thor would recall this moment with a sliver of embarrassment, but at that moment he had only hope and the desire not to lose the person who meant the most to him. With a desperation that bordered on humiliating, Thor pressed his lips to Loki’s brow, eyelids and cheeks. He jerked open the laces of Loki’s sleeves and laid open-mouthed kisses where Loki’s pulse should have been. When the blue began to recede there as well, he stripped off Loki’s shirt entirely, then his own.

Someone cursed, drawing Thor’s attention up and away from his brother’s fragile hold on life to discover that the Jötunns had drawn closer, eyes intent upon Loki. Volstagg looked ready to draw his sword, and the knights shifted closer, forming a tight circle around Thor and Loki. There was not, however, any sign that the Jötunn’s meant to attack, and so Thor turned his attention once more to Loki.

Lifting his brother, Thor drew him into an embrace, covering as much of Loki’s skin as possible with his own. He sat there, chest-to-chest and cheek-to-cheek with his brother, oblivious to the whispers around them, uncaring of anything but the faint, stuttering beat of Loki’s heart. It was weak at first, hardly more than a flutter. Thor was certain he imagined it, but as the seconds ticked by, it grew stronger.

Thor shifted, moving to touch his brow to Loki’s, warming the breath between them. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then Loki’s body seized, back bowing as his eyes flew open and he gasped, taking his first true breath. Their eyes met, and Loki frowned, searching Thor’s face for what, Thor could only guess.

“Brother,” Thor said at last, when it became clear Loki would not.

Loki’s gaze slid away. “You call me that even now, when the truth has been exposed,” he replied.

“The blood that runs through your veins matters not. I told you before, Loki, you are mine.” He looked up, eyes skimming the sea of faces, taking note of the fear and awe, the hope, contained within them. His gaze moved beyond them, to the ruins of Laufey’s castle, and he grimaced. “You nearly destroyed this entire kingdom with your display.”

“Would that have been so bad?”

Thor frowned, not liking his brother’s tone. “To eliminate an entire realm, when not all of its citizens are guilty of the same crimes as their king? Would you kill innocents so easily now, when not so long ago you told me that many should not suffer the punishment for the mistake of one man?”

Loki struggled to pull away, and Thor helped him to sit up, lending a hand when Loki was unable to pull his shirt on. When they stood, Loki swayed, his face going ashen beneath the blue hue his skin had taken on, and Thor was quick to realize that Loki had little strength, if any at all. The thought was chilling, and the actuality of it, when Loki accepted Thor’s half embrace and leaned into his chest, told him that for all Loki wished to be standing independent of Thor right then, he was physically incapable of doing so.

“Look at them,” Loki said when he had regained his breath once more. “At me. It is not a matter of innocence. This is a land of people born to wield magic, whose lives are _tied_ to it, and yet that very power is what is killing them. What kind of existence is _that_ , dear brother?”

“One that can be eased, if not corrected. You have used your magic since we were boys and never before have I seen you look as so many of the Jötunn’s do until now.”

Behind them, someone gasped. Loki and the knights closest to him startled at the appearance of a Jötunn child, his small hands reaching to touch Loki’s arm. Sif had her sword drawn, but Thor stilled her with a hand, beckoning the child closer.

“Mother told me once, a few years ago, that as long as you had me, your magic would not kill you. I suspected then that you were different. I have read the tomes written about the old empire, about how there was once a balance.”

“And yet no one thought to tell _me_ ,” Loki snarled. 

He tried to jerk free of Thor’s hold, but his body was still too weak, the drain on his magic making his movements sluggish. Thor ached in sympathy, though he was careful not to show it for fear of Loki misreading it as pity. The Jötunn boy flinched, and Loki stopped, guilt drawing his brows down in a sorrowful vee.

“You were already so certain that father had no care for you,” Thor replied. “How could I risk telling you when there was even a small chance of you leaving? As always, my brother, where you are concerned, my thoughts and wishes are selfish. And now, to this boy, you are a symbol of hope.”

Thor dropped to his knees to face the boy, dragging Loki down with him, still curled into the protective shelter of Thor’s chest. The child’s skin was a bluish-pink, his eyes just beginning to show the signs of magical bleeding. 

“Sif, lend this child your hand for a moment,” Thor requested.

She did as asked, though her manner remained reserved. At first, nothing happened, but after a few more second of continued contact, the boy’s skin became warmer in tone. A few heartbeats later and the red tinge to his eyes faded, leaving him blinking up at her through bright green eyes.

“Oh,” she said, the word a bare whisper. “But…how?”

“It was the way, before the great rift,” Loki replied. “Mo—mother spoke of it, but I did not understand what she meant, did not want to understand. Not at the time.” He closed his eyes, looking overwhelmed and exhausted. The red of his eyes was growing darker by the second, a sure sign that whatever magical poison he suffered from was only getting worse. Thor could only image what he was thinking, and even then, he knew that it was but a fraction of the truth. 

Thor cleared his throat and readjusted his hold, taking more of Loki’s weight upon himself. “I believe the long explanation would be best told later, when my brother is rested, but the short version is that we, those with no ability to wield magic, channel it. We keep it from corrupting those who do.” He turned his gaze to the crowd, raising his voice to be heard. “Whose child is this?”

“He is no one’s child,” someone replied. “His father was a lower mage to the King, his mother a commoner, sacrificed so that her blood could strengthen the father’s magic. He is a lost child.” A woman stepped forward, hair shorn close to her head and her face gaunt. “It is as you say, Prince— _King_ Thor of Asgard. My own husband died when his magic turned his body to ice, as it nearly did your brother. I was not strong enough to draw him back into life and King Laufey would not allow him to connect with the leylines.”

It was the odd phrasing that had Thor peering at her more closely. “You are not Jötunn,” he said with surprise.

“No. I am from Vanaheim. I met my husband before he worked for the king, before the magic turned his heart cold. He was a smith first, and a fine one. When King Laufey conscripted him into service, he changed. He would spend all day at the palace and return cold as the frost that plagues our land. I was no longer enough to keep the magic from infecting his body, try as I might.”

“You are a good woman for it,” Thor acknowledged. He would have said more, but Loki chose that moment to collapse, eyes sliding shut and his legs giving way. His skin was cold as ice to the touch again, the blue of his skin darkening with frightening speed.

“He is very sick from the magic, my Lord. The level of power he used…in a mage born and raised in Jotunheim, he would have known not to tap into a leyline like that. He will die if you do not help him, and even if lives, he will not be fully recovered for days. It would be best to get him back to his home.” There was a sad twist to the woman’s face as she said the last word, but Thor did not have the time to comment.

Before Thor could do so himself, Volstagg was there, lifting Loki into his arms. It was the smear of blood across Loki’s front that reminded Thor of his own injuries and he was quick to cover them with the fresh shirt one of his knights, Dallen, handed him. From the ever-growing crowd of Jötunns, a blanket was produced for Loki.

“For our prince.” A Jötunn man stepped forward, pressing the offering into Thor’s hands. “We are a kingless people now. If it is the will of Asgard that we not be destroyed, we will need a leader.”

There were grumblings of disapproval, but they were hushed quickly and Thor did not seek to discover who was at fault. He caught the Jötunn’s hands within his own, and said,

“You will have your king, if he so desires to return to this land. Until then, is there no other?”

“None, my Lord. The Fallen King saw to it that there were no challengers to his crown.”

He hated the idea of leaving them thus; a kingdom without its king was prone to strife. “Then pray for the swift recovery of Loki Odinson of Asgard, true heir of Jotunheim’s fallen King Laufey. Once we have returned to my land, I will see that you are looked after.”

Thor meant the words to be of comfort, but he could see immediately that they were taken just the opposite by those who still doubted that Thor meant them well. Though there was no wind to be felt, the leaves of the trees rustled, restless and threatening. He held up both hands in supplication.

“I meant only that we will not abandon you. Asgard does not punish the whole for the crimes of a few. Be at peace, my friends. The truce between our two kingdoms, fragile as it has been, remains.” He spared a glance at Sif, and she moved to stand at his side. 

“We lost ten in the fight. Our horses are not far from here, hidden from the Jötunn guards by your brother. If they ride double, we can take as many as twenty back to Asgard. There are many suffering from the sickness of their magic.”

“Do it.”

Thor turned away, leaving Sif and Hogun to explain his proposal. The wounds he had ignored previously chose that moment to make their complaints known, and it required a good deal of his focus just to walk the short distance to the horse awaiting him. Thor swung himself up onto the horse’s back with a wince, then reached for Loki, keeping hold of him as Volstagg situated him in the saddle as well. There was only one other horse there, and Volstagg claimed it for himself.

“The others will follow. It is best we return as quickly as possible as neither of you is in good health.”

Sif appeared at Thor’s side, brow creased in light concern as she laid a hand on knee. “There are a few in our group too wounded for travel. In exchange for passage into Asgard, the Jötunn healers have agreed to tend the knights. Hogun and I will stay behind.” She did not meet his eyes as she added, “Will you let Lady Darcy know I have been delayed but am not injured.”

Thor covered her hand with his own and said, “I will make it known. Hurry back to us.” 

Then they were off, Volstagg leading the way. As they passed through the gates of Jotunheim’s city walls, it was all Thor could do not to nudge his horse into a gallop. Asgard’s borders were half a day’s ride away, the castle even further. Already it was close to nightfall. As much as he wished for a rapid return home, he was aware that neither he nor Volstagg were up to such a ride, to say nothing of Loki’s current condition.

His grip tightened around Loki, and for the first time since Thor had watched his brother sweep into Laufey’s throne room, he allowed himself to acknowledge just how close he had come to losing the most important person in his life. He promised himself he would not allow such to happen again. Whatever lay ahead, Thor knew he would rise to the challenge, but only with his brother at his side.

**. . .**

Frigga was waiting in the courtyard with Jane and Darcy when they rode up, and though Thor could see the worry on her face as she took in Loki’s unconscious form, she tended to their guests first.

“Darcy, see that the physician is made aware we are in immediate need of his services. Jane—”

“I will see that the Great Hall is cleared so that we can lay out the wounded, My Lady. While the physician tends to them, Darcy and I will see that the spare rooms are made up for their recovery.”

“Good.”

Several guards stepped forward then, and the travelers were helped down from their horse. The Jötunns who could not walk were carried, all of them herded into the castle, save the little boy. He remained hovering nearby, and Thor was unsure of where to send him. He would be underfoot in the Great Hall, but could easily become lost if left to wander. He received his answer in the form of the page, Delling, to whom Loki had taken a great liking.

“Is Prince Loki…dead?” 

The boy stopped near the horse’s head, his hands reaching instinctively for the reins. As he held the horse still, Volstagg appeared and lifted Loki out of Thor’s arms long enough for him dismount.

“He is not, though it is still a close thing.” 

Volstagg returned Loki to Thor’s arms, then left to help the others. Thor watched him go, then nodded to Delling.

“You are the boy who helps my brother.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Thor laughed, the sound startling them both. “I am not king just yet. The boy standing over there, he is from Jotunheim. He was dying of the same sickness my brother suffers from, but he is well now. Bring him with us. I do not wish him to get lost or trampled.”

“And what shall I do then, Sire? Do you need help?”

The earnest expression on the boy’s face was comforting. Loki would need someone else he could trust, at least until Thor could put at ease the minds of his people. He was not certain who knew yet that it was Loki’s deception that had led to Odin’s untimely death, but the people of Asgard were nothing if not fiercely loyal, and Loki had never been favored by anyone other than Thor and Frigga.

“I do. The physician and his assistant will be tending to the rest of the people, so I shall need someone to send for a hot bath and some food.”

“I can do that. And my brother will tend to you.”

In the midst of caring for his brother, Thor had forgotten his own wounds, crudely dressed during one of the stops made on their return. His attention was on them now, though, and he could feel the ache of bruised ribs and cuts only just beginning to heal. He nodded in agreement. 

“Fetch him now, and then have someone in the kitchens send up water for the bath. Take the boy with you and see if you cannot find him some food, as well.”

“Thor.”

Thor startled at the sound of Volstagg’s voice, and he blinked at him in surprise. “Why have you not joined the others?” Thor demanded. Though Volstagg did not look hurt, it was always hard to tell with him.

“I am fine, Thor. A single scratch and it is already healed over. I shall bear your brother to your rooms and then join the others in the Great Hall.” His gaze drifted to Loki’s and he frowned. “I should like to see his reaction when I tell him he is the fairest of all Jötunns I have met.” Volstagg held out his arms, and though Thor was loathe to do so, he allowed Volstagg to take up Loki’s weight and bear him into the castle and up the stairs.

Without needing to ask, Volstagg knew to take Loki to Thor’s rooms, where he laid Loki out on the bed. He hesitated, but eventually retreated to the doorway. Thor offered him a grateful smile and said,

“You have done me great service, Volstagg, and for that, I shall be forever thankful. Go have yourself checked over and then find a quiet corner to eat. If there is need, I will send for you.”

He could see the doubt in Volstagg’s expression, but after another moment he nodded in agreement. Just as he left, young Delling appeared with the boy following close at his heels. Not far behind them were two others: Delling’s brother Riodhr and a woman still fairly young with plain features, a full waist and eyes like the two boys. Their mother, Thor guessed, and he was proven correct a moment later when she spoke.

“Gerdie, M’Lord. I mean, Your Majesty. My boy, Delling, said Prince Loki was gravely ill and bid me attend you both.”

“Please, for now let me just be Thor. Formality can wait until my brother’s life is no longer at risk. Your sons have earned great trust from my brother. He is in desperate need of those who care for him as I do, not ones who would not see him die for his failings.

Gerdie’s lips pressed together in a thin line, but when she spoke, there was nothing but warm fondness in her tone. “Your brother has been very generous towards my sons. It has not been easy for them, working in the castle, and my youngest son was having the hardest time adjusting until this past year. I feared I would have to send him away, but since he came into your brother’s service, he has been in trouble with the steward less and less.”

The information was news to Thor, but he set it aside for the time being. “There is a large copper tub in the room to the left. If you would be so kind as to draw it into the room, I would like to have it filled, the water unscented, please.”

Gerdie curtseyed before slipping into the room indicated, Riodhr at her side. When Thor turned around, Delling was there, a frown on his face and his gaze locked on Loki’s still form. 

“Before—before he left, Prince Loki asked me to give you letter.” Delling tore his gaze away from the bed to look at Thor with wide, sad eyes. “He said to give it to you if he didn’t make it back. One for you and one for the queen.” From inside his jacket, Delling produced two slightly crinkled squares of parchment, folded over and sealed. “I know he’s not dead, but I—I think he really wanted you to read it.”

Thor opened his mouth to argue, but Delling’s mother and brother chose that moment to return. Biting back his response, Thor accepted the letters, setting the one for his mother onto the table and using his thumbnail to lift the seal of his own. The words scrawled across the page in Loki’s tight, neat handwriting were like a punch to the gut.

_Brother,  
There are many things I wish to tell you, but first and foremost is this: I regret, with everything that I am, my part in father’s death. I cannot begin to tell what I was hoping for when I first set out to strike back at him, but it was not this, his death and the war with Jotunheim. Selfish as it is for me to say so now, were it possible to go back in time and undo all the wrong I have wrought, I would, if only so that I would never have to see such hate in your eyes directed toward me._

_I know that I have no right to ask for forgiveness, not after all that I have done, all whom I have hurt, and so I will not. What I ask is this: when enough time has passed that you no longer think of me in anger, do not think of me in sadness. I have made my choices, and though many were made in poor judgment, I understood that I would have to live—and die—with the consequences long before this night. So if you take it into your head to blame yourself in some unimaginable way, brother, do not. I know my fate, even now as I prepare to ride out to Jotunheim with the enemy at my front and my back. If I am lucky, Sif will cut me down in the midst of battle and you can think me fallen at the hands of a Jötunn. If I am unlucky—If I am unlucky, I should hope that my misfortune would still be your fortune._

_In the end, I ask only this: Live. Marry, have children, and forget the brother who tore your world apart out of selfishness. Love. Do not marry Lady Jane just to produce an heir. Find a woman who will make you truly happy and make her Asgard’s queen. Be_ happy _. This, more than anything else, I wish to impress upon you. Do not wallow in sadness as I have. Let your friends bear you up through whatever times lie ahead._

_And know this. Though it terrified me to say so before, there is no other that I have ever loved more than I have you. Nor will there ever be, in this life or the next. It was unfair of me to forbid you to say the words, but I did so not because I did not share the sentiment, but because I knew I was not worthy of your love._

_Though I have no right to ask anything of you, I beg for this: do not turn out the boy I have kept in my care, Delling, or his brother, Riodhr. They are loyal, perhaps to a fault, but you can trust them. I told Riodhr that I would talk to you about taking him on as a manservant. You will need one now that you are king, and while he is still untrained, he is quick to learn. If nothing else, train him as a server. He has no skill with a sword, but he is reliable and not prone towards dropping things as Delling is._

_Take care, my brother, and I hope to see you in the next life._

_All my love,  
Loki_

The parchment crinkled in his hand as Thor closed his eyes, and he wished more than anything else that he could unread the words on page. It was not until a hand touched his own that Thor recalled he was not alone. He opened his eyes to find Gerdie watching him, her face solemn.

“The bath is ready, Sire. Delling has asked to wait in the hall for you, but if you do not mind, I will take this little lad with me and get him cleaned up.”

“He is of Jötunn descent,” Thor cautioned.

Gerdie smiled. “It is not well known, but—I have worked in this castle for many years now, and though my husband only died two years previous, he was little seen inside these walls. We lived in the town at his insistence, for well-received as he was, my husband did not wish to make public his heritage, and so kept himself from the eye of the king." She paused, the silence weighted. My husband a was Jötunn, banished by his king when it was discovered he had no magic. I knew nothing from him but kindness and love unending, and his passing grieves me still... There are few who would understand the child, but I promise he will not be neglected while in my care.”

She curtseyed once more, then hefted the boy up into her arms. The few misgivings Thor harbored died when the boy yawned and dropped his head into the crook of Gerdie’s neck. Beside her, Riodhr was arranging food on the table, and Thor waved for him to wait as she took her leave.

“My brother mentioned you are looking for work. Your time as a page is nearing its end,” Thor said. He ached to tend to his brother, but Delling was already at the bedside, dutifully stripping away Loki’s boots and coat. “If you do not wish to become a squire, I should like to hire you as my personal attendant. The one who served my father is past the age of work, though he will remain long enough to see you trained. Is that to your liking?”

Riodhr nodded. “Yes, Sire.” He frowned, and Thor could sense his confusion. 

“We will speak more once my brother has recovered. For now, go and see to those in the Great Hall. Let your mother know that any expenses incurred while caring for the Jötunn boy will be repaid.”

“Thank you, Sire.” Riodhr spared his brother a quick hug, then dashed off to do as requested. 

To Delling, Thor said, “That is all. If you would see that no one interrupts us, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Yes, Sire,” Delling replied. 

He hesitated at the door, his gaze returning to Loki. Thor was struck then by just how young the boy was, his bottom lip just beginning to quiver. Sensing the question on the tip of the boy’s tongue, Thor said,

“If there is any change, I will let you know.”

Delling nodding and let himself out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him. Alone once more, Thor wasted little time stripping away his clothes. He left them in a pile, more inclined to have them burned than washed to erase the memories of his time in the Jötunn prison that lay hidden in the folds. He did the same for Loki, growing more worried when he noted just how slow his brother’s pulse had become.

The water was steaming hot as Thor lowered Loki into the tub, and though it was difficult to do, he managed to hold his brother upright as Thor slid in behind him. Loki stirred once, a soft noise of discontent trapped low in his throat, but he remained otherwise unmoving. His skin, however, began to warm rapidly, and Thor pulled him close, his cheek pressed to the pulse in Loki’s neck. After another moment, he pulled away to reach for the soap and set about washing away the last few days.

They stayed in the bath until the water was cold, and then it was a task to climb out and keep Loki’s head above the water. Thor was just about to give up when a tentative knock came and Delling’s head peeked around the edge of the door.

“I could hear the splashing, Sire. Do you need any help?”

“Yes,” Thor replied, relieved. “If you would make certain my brother’s head does not fall beneath the water, I would appreciate it.”

The boy nodded, careful to keep his gaze averted as Thor climbed out of the tub and donned his robe. When he bent to lift up his brother, Delling escaped to the hearth where he stoked the fire into a crackling blaze. On his way out of the room, he paused to press a hand to Loki’s wrist, his gaze half challenging as he looked up at Thor.

“If you send him away, I would go with him,” Delling announced.

Thor could not help but grin at the young boy. “My brother would be honored to hear such, but you need not worry. My plans for my brother will not end in exile _or_ imprisonment. You will have your chance to serve him.”

His words earned him a bright smile, and then the boy was scampering off, leaving Thor alone with Loki again. Though his skin had taken on a more natural hue finally, his pulse was still sluggish and he had yet to awaken since his collapse back in Jotunheim. Thor laid him out on the bed, then piled blankets and furs atop before shedding his robe and sliding in beside Loki. Aware that it would be best to have as much skin on skin contact, Thor arranged them so that Loki sprawled half across Thor, his cheek resting on Thor’s chest and their legs entwined.

He was unable to mark the passage of time once the candles burned down, but Thor knew that at least half a day had passed. The sky was dark outside the window, the clouds blocking out even the faint light of the moon. Though no one else had trespassed into his rooms, Delling had entered twice, once to stoke the fire and later to bring the food closer to the bed. Each time, he had stared at Loki, his little face a mask of worry bordering on grief. On his third visit, Thor broke his silence.

“Do not mourn him just yet. Loki is sick, yes, but he is one of the most stubborn men I know. He will fight this, if only to prove that he can.”

Delling nodded, but did not speak as he cleared away the empty food platter. The pitcher of water was replaced with a fresh one, and a small hand found its way to Thor’s shoulder.

“The Lady Queen passed by not long ago. She said she would be stopping by to see you before she retired for the evening.” Delling cast a glance over his shoulder to where the door stood open. “My brother will be outside if you need him. I’ll return first thing in the morning.”

“Sleep well, and I thank you for your assistance. You are truly worthy of Loki’s praise.”

It was not more than a moment later when the door opened again, this time to reveal his mother, her hair down around her shoulders in a rare display of casual comfort. She was still in her clothes from earlier, and when she sat down on the edge of the bed, he could see stains that no amount of washing could remove. Her skin was rough, her grip firm as she clasped one of his hands within her own two.

“He has not woken?” 

“Not since Jotunheim. I believe his body is in shock.” Thor met his mother’s gaze dead on, knowing the effect of his next words. “I believe—I believe he did not intend to survive his battle with King Laufey.”

Frigga’s eyes went wide with horror, and she let out a soft, distressed sound. “What do you mean?”

“He left behind two letters to be delivered upon my return, should he not be in attendance. There is one for you on the table, though I would not recommend you read it now.” 

The look Frigga gave him told Thor exactly what she thought of his suggestion. She was quick to fetch the letter, and though she said not a word, Thor could see the grief and remorse writ plainly across her features. When she was done, she let the letter fall away and reached out to lay a hand upon Loki’s cheek.

“I knew I should never have let Odin keep Loki’s heritage a secret, but he insisted. He believed that to tell Loki would be to send him straight back into the arms of our enemy.”

“As it did.”

“No. Do not believe for a second that your brother meant to join Laufey. He stole for him, yes, but Loki was smart enough even then not to give a Jötunn the secrets of our castle. He could have let an entire army through to kill us, but he did not. No, his goal was to humiliate, to shame your father, but always, I believe he meant to remain here.” She looked up into Thor’s eyes. “With you.”

“He betrayed us,” Thor said, but he knew his tone lacked conviction. Loki had deceived him— _everyone_ , yes, but Thor did not doubt that Loki’s end goal had not included the death of their father, no matter how much anger was in his heart.

“He betrayed himself even more. In his need to retaliate for the hurt Odin’s lies caused him, Loki very nearly destroyed the one thing he cared for most. When you left—when you left, Thor, Loki believed you hated him. If he went to Jotunheim seeking death, it was to absolve you of his wrong-doing. It was to be his atonement.”

Thor could not hold her gaze any longer, and he turned his face toward Loki, burying his nose in Loki’s hair and breathing in the clean scent of him. He could feel tears burning at the corners of his eyes, and in that moment, all he wanted was for Loki to wake. Thor could live with everything else, terrible as it all was, but only if Loki was at his side. He was unaware of saying such aloud, but the press of his mother’s hand to his hair said otherwise.

“Oh my darling son, have faith. Your brother loves you dearly. He knows you love him still.”

“Does he?” Thor choked out. He gave up the fight against tears then, and was unashamed by the sob that escaped, muffled by Loki’s hair. “He has not woken since I pulled him from the castle ruins, not even when we cut through the river to shorten our travel. I can feel him pulling further away from me with every breath he takes and there is nothing I can do to bring him back.”

Frigga’s voice was heavy with sadness as she said, “You are doing it, my son. Your father, may the gods watch over him always, fell from his horse once during a hunt once. It was long ago, before you were born. He slept for almost two weeks, but when he woke, he told me he could hear me as I read to him. Is it so hard to believe that Loki can hear you? Can feel the warmth of your love?”

Thor closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he knew they shone with his resolve. “He is my brother. Is it not wrong that I should love him so?”

“Thor.” Frigga leaned in close to press a kiss to first his forehead, then Loki’s. “How could it be wrong when clearly it has made both of you happy? Never has Loki smiled as wide or as bright as when he looks upon you, and since the midsummer, he has lost that haunted look he gets whenever the two of you are parted for more than a few hours. He stopped caring about every insult, about the intended slights. He had you, all of you, and for that short time, he was at peace with himself.” Frigga withdrew, her hands steady as she resettled the furs and blankets covering them. “Sleep, my son, and let the morning bring with it the start of not just a new day, but a new life.”

It was as though her words were magic. Even before the door closed, Thor felt sleep pulling at him. He turned onto his side, and tightened his hold on Loki, willing him to feel just how desperately Thor wished him to wake up. When Thor dreamed, it was of a future he wanted to believe would come to pass.


	18. Chapter 18

Two days later, there was still no sign of Loki waking, and even appeared at times to be growing worse. When not in constant contact, his skin took on the dark blue hue of Laufey and his skin grew cold as ice. It was terrifying to behold, and was perhaps the only reason Thor’s absence was excused. Word of Loki’s part in Odin’s demise had not yet reached the citizens, and so the city of Asgard mourned their fallen prince together.

On the third morning, Frigga arrived with Lady Jane and Fandral in her wake, and young Delling leading the way. She sat on Loki’s other side and laid her hand over his arm.

“It is time for Asgard’s King to return to his throne. You cannot hide away in these rooms forever, my son.”

“The moment we are parted, he would die.”

Frigga leaned forward, and the hand she pressed to Thor’s cheek was warm and firm. “I would not ask you to abandon your brother. Though your bond means that you are the best channel for his magic, you are not the only one. Let another take your place.”

“I would be glad to sit in your stead, Thor,” Fandral said. “Jane has been most adamant on the matter of my offering. Hogun would have offered as well, but he believes that his mixed blood could be of some concern. Even Volstagg has offered.”

Thor swallowed against the emotions welling up within him, and blinked away the wetness in his eyes. “Your generosity is appreciated, my friends. Jane—”

“Your brother and I have never seen eye-to-eye, Thor, but I see now that perhaps it was not out of some great dislike for me, but a misunderstanding of our relationship. I will not hold that against him.”

Her words, their meaning so plainly spoken, had Thor’s cheeks heating. “I see I have not been as discreet as I had thought.”

Fandral offered him a half-smile. “It was Hogun who figured it out first, and after that, oddly, Volstagg. When pointed out to me…” He shrugged. “We see nothing wrong with what you share. The two of you have always been close, closer than any others I know, save the Lady Queen and her late husband, may the Gods watch over him.”

Thor could think of no response to Fandral’s words that would do justice his feelings for his friend. He chose instead to stand and draw Fandral into a hug, doing the same for Jane. 

“Thank you.” Thor stepped away, but before he could leave, his mother was there, her arms tight around his shoulders.

“Do not lose hope, my son,” she whispered. She pulled back to smooth her hands down the front of his shirt and said, “Speak with one of our Jötunn guests. Perhaps they know something we do not.”

“I will do so. Thank you again.”

It was hard to leave the room, harder still to walk away and head down the hall to the stairs. Each step he took felt like a physical tug as he moved further and further away, and by the time Thor reached the Throne room, his hands were trembling. He had been so lost in thought that it was until a hand stopped him that Thor realized he was not alone. When he turned, it was to find young Riodhr standing just behind him, his arms laden down with a heavy cloak and Thor’s crown.

“Ah,” Thor said. “Thank you. My mind was on other things.”

“It is my honor, Your Majesty,” Riodhr replied, his tone stiff.

The guards standing at the doors drew them open, and as they passed through, Thor reached first for his crown and second for his cloak. Behind him, the doors closed with a soft thud, locking out the sound of oncoming footsteps. One guard had remained inside, and he nodded to Thor as he stood at attention.

“Please, it has never been my family’s way to be so formal when not in audience. It would be enough that you call me ‘Sire.’

Riodhr’s eyes widened at that. “Yes, Sire.”

Thor sat down heavily, already feeling the weight of his kingdom’s worries pressing upon his shoulders. He allowed himself a moment to remain slumped, then straightened his back and waved entry to the guard. When the doors swung open, Thor found himself facing the council, several of whom were extremely angry. In the time between his capture in Jotunheim until now, he had forgotten the letters of retirement he had had delivered to the three men just five days ago, and he bit back a sigh at the sight of their enraged expressions.

Councilman Erland was the first to speak. “I demand to know the meaning of this!” He made to approach the dais, letter in hand, but before he could more than a step, the two closest guards barred the way. 

“Perhaps it would be best if you changed your tone, Councilman.” 

The councilman drew himself up, his face red with fury. “How dare you dismiss me from the council? I served your father for near forty years—”

“And we are grateful for every one, Councilman. As valued as your contributions are, it has been brought to our attention that the time has come to make a few adjustments to the council.”

“How dare you!” Councilman Sindri stepped forward, and to him, Thor directed a less pleasant response.

“I speak only for myself when I say that for some time, I have found you tiresome. Your estates are surrounded by no less than ten villages, many of which are in dire need of assistance you have not given them. You are a representative of your entire area, not just your House. I will feel no sorrow when you return to your home.”

Coucilman Branstock cleared his throat, though he remained where he stood at the back of the group. “And have you picked members who will be replacing Councilmen Asgaut, Erland, and Sindri?”

“I have not, which is why only Councilman Sindri’s letter requested his immediate exit from the council.” Thor narrowed his eyes. “Have you a suggestion?”

With a look of casual indifference, Councilman Branstock said, “I know of perhaps one or two. I believe Councilmen Yule and Vestein know of a few as well.”

“In that case,” Thor replied, “I see no reason for any of you gentlemen to delay your trips home. The weather is clear, but cold enough that there is little risk of bandits. Two knights will accompany each of you, and your House shall receive the rest of the year’s pay for your services.” When the men opened their mouths to argue, Thor held up his hand. “Save your breath, gentlemen. You have a long journey ahead.” 

A nod to the guards had them stepping forward to lead the former councilmen away. The doors shut with a resounding thud, and as one, the remaining council members turned to face Thor. There were a few uneasy members, Councilman Vandrad chief among, and for good reason. After the three recently relieved of their duties, Councilman Vandrad had been a part of Odin’s council the longest, and by Thor’s standards was close to retirement as well. The only reason Thor had not cut him loose was because unlike the others, Councilman Vandrad had proven himself a great asset to the council over the years.

“Speak freely, Councilman, for we know you have much on your mind.”

“I would wish only to know where I stand with Your Majesty.”

Thor smiled. “Each councilman is granted a term of five years. If, after that time, he decides to return home, it is asked only that he submit the names of five men or women from his area that he deems worthy. Your term ends with the next Midsummer, and we hope that you will remain with us until then at the very least.”

Councilman Vandrad’s relief was visible; his face relaxed as a bowed. “That is my wish, Sire. I had spoken with your father, may the Gods watch over him, and expressed my desire to return home with my wife. My brother has a daughter of thirty. She has refused both the idea of becoming a priestess and marriage. She is intelligent, strong of will and highly educated. There has not been a woman on the council for almost as long as she has lived, and in truth, I have found it to be a great shame.”

“As had my father,” Thor replied. To point out that it fell to the retiring council members to choose fairly their proposed successor would have been rude, but he knew by the expressions on the men’s faces that they understood what he was careful not to say. “And what is your niece’s name?”

“Her name is Iduna, Sire, and she would be my sole choice.”

“It has been noted. However, we have three new vacancies that Asgard needs filled now. If you have suggestions, we would like to hear them.”

As a sly smile crept over Councilman Branstock’s face, Thor could see exactly why Loki liked him so much. The first name Councilman Branstock put forth was of a young noble’s son, too fresh out of his youth to be wholly suitable as a candidate. His second two were of like, but his fourth was a woman of great wealth, widowed at a young age and left with two daughters of her own, along with her late husband’s four grown—and married—sons. Freya was already a lady of the court, and while her daughters were not married, they were old enough not to require constant minding. It would be a task to keep her life with her children and that as a council member balanced, but just from hearing Councilman Branstock speak of her, Thor imagined she was up to the challenge.

Within three hours, he had three soon-to-be council members, all of whom were female. Freya, Bestla, and Ranveig were not only well-suited to the duties of being a member of the King’s Council, but they lived at the palace already. There were no households to pack up, no families to move. Ranveig was married to a knight, a woman of no children by design of the Gods, but she was generous of heart if Councilman Yale was to be believed. By the time the group dispersed and Thor was once more alone, he was exhausted by all he had accomplished.

He was just falling into a light doze when the doors opened once more, this time to admit the young woman from Jotunheim. She curtsied before moving closer, her dark brown eyes wide with worry.

“If this is not a good time, Your Majesty...”

“It is fine. Please, what concerns have brought you here? Is all not well? Have you been treated ill?”

“Oh!” She went pink across her cheeks, a blush that was quick to color her neck as well. “No, I have been treated quite well, Your Majesty. It was one of your knights, Sir Volstagg? He mentioned your brother, Prince Loki, was still gravely ill and that you feared he would not awaken.”

“As far as I know, he has not. I had not left his side until today, and had he done so while I was gone, my mother would have sent for me.”

“If it would please you, Your Majesty, I would go with you to check on him. Sickness from magic is common among the Jötunns, and though I do not share their blood, I have grown familiar with both the symptoms and their true causes. In the case of my husband, his body was poisoned by the unfiltered magic. Your brother was much the same when I saw him in Jotunheim, but if you have been with him since leaving there...” She looked to the ground, her shoulders tensing. “It is possible that magical fatigue is not all that he suffers from.”

Small though the glimmer of hope was, Thor could not help but feel relieved at the suggestion that not all was lost. He stood, startled only a bit by the sudden appearance of Riodhr, and nodded to the young woman.

“We shall go see my brother at once, and perhaps as we walk, you will tell me your name. I beg your forgiveness for not inquiring sooner.”

The young woman blushed as she hurried to match his long stride. “You are very busy, Your Majesty. I am Ashilde.”

“Welcome to Asgard, Ashilde.” At the door to Thor’s room, he paused. “Please forgive whatever sight awaits us. When I left, my mother and two close friends were sitting with Loki. It may very well be twice that number, now.”

Her smile was assuring as she said, “I am not unaccustomed to crowds, least of all strangers. I appreciate the warning, though, Your Majesty.”

It was as Thor had guessed. One side of the bed sat Volstagg and Hogun. On the other side sat Darcy, Jane and Fandral. On the bed was Thor’s mother, a book held up in one hand as the other stroked over Loki’s head. It was quite the family picture, and Thor took a moment to enjoy the sight before striding into the room.

“My friends, mother, this is Ashilde. She has offered to see if she can determine what is why my brother has yet to awaken.”

Frigga was the first to move, standing to take hold of Ashilde’s hand within two of her own. “Thank you.”

“I have done nothing yet, Lady Queen.”

“Perhaps not, but that you offered rather than wait to be sought out speaks volumes of your character, so again, I thank you.” To Thor, she said, “Perhaps your friends should return later?”

“Of course.” Thor nodded to Fandral, who pulled Jane to her feet and offered a hand to Darcy. Volstagg was already halfway to the door, Hogun a step behind him. Jane pressed a kiss to Thor’s cheek, then followed Darcy and Fandral from the room, pausing at the door to send him one last sad smile.

When Thor turned back, it was to find Ashilde already at the bedside, her hands hovering over Loki’s arm. She looked up, and at his nod of assent, pressed her fingers to the where Loki’s heartbeat could be felt, a slow but steady pulse that gave Thor hope. She frowned, then reached to press her fingers to Loki’s neck. 

After a moment, she straightened, careful in explanation of magic poisoning. When she through, she asked, “May I check his eyes?”

“Of course,” Thor replied. He moved closer to watch as she lifted first one lid and then the other. He was unsurprised to see that Loki’s eyes were the same bright red as Laufey's had been, though he was startled by the way they shifted from red to Loki's natural blue. To his right, Frigga gasped.

“What does that mean?”

“That his magic is trying to heal itself. When Prince Loki tapped into the large pool of magic that lay beneath the castle, he opened himself up to raw power. Think of it as the difference between a pitcher and a cup. A cup is made so that a person is not overwhelmed by what they are drinking. If you spill, there is not much. However, if you were to tip over a pitcher, the mess would be considerably larger. 

“Most important is that a pitcher is made to serve more than one person. Not even King Laufey was daring enough to tap the pool of magic. When you battled and his mages were killed, it is safe to think that he began pulling magic from the leylines feeding into the pool and not the pool itself. Loki was not so cautious. It is bold of me, I know, but I would guess…” She glanced up at Thor, waiting for his nod before continuing. “My guess is that when he brought down the castle, he did not intend to survive. He may have believed he was going to die regardless.”

Frigga let out a soft, pained sound, and Thor reached out to pull her against his side. He had thought as much; now he had his confirmation. His gaze moved to Loki and he found himself asking, “He will not wake, then?”

Ashilde smiled. “I am certain that he will, Your Majesty. In that brief moment he was awake, seeing you gave him hope. Had he none, he would not have lived through the night, let alone this long. And unlike those of Jotunheim, your brother has survived all his life on naught but the magic within himself. For the first time, he has found a source from which to feed, and his body is attempting to adjust.”

“To what purpose was King Laufey amassing all that power? There has been peace between our people for many centuries now, tenuous though it was.” Frigga sat on the edge of the bed, her hand flat on Loki’s shoulder. 

“There were whispers recently, that the king was close to reclaiming a long-lost power source. At first it was believed to be a relic, but one of the mages let slip it was the stolen heir. Though none knew where the child had been taken, it was clear that Laufey believed his lost son would be returning.” She reached out then, her fingers brushing over Loki’s wrist. “I had hoped it was not true, not only for the sake of the other kingdoms, but for the sake of the young prince as well. The life he would have been subjected to…No one deserves that.”

In a sudden rush, Thor recalled the look upon his brother’s face when Loki had refused to accompany Thor into Jotunheim. What had seemed like disregard then, Thor now understood was truly regret. Loki had known not to cross Jotunheim’s borders. “What do you mean?” he demanded, wanting a true explanation.

“Though King Laufey’s power was great, the blood of his heir was stronger. Had King Laufey gotten hold of Prince Loki, Laufey would have had him stripped of his ability to use magic, instead turning him into a constant channel. All the magic of the kingdom would have been filtered through him to be strengthened and cleansed. The prince would have lived in constant pain, unable to break free and with no rest. He would have lived and died that way, tortured for the sake of power.”

She broke off then, and Thor was glad for it. The horror at knowing what fate could have awaited his brother had him regretting his final words before their meeting in Jotunheim. That Loki had come for him at all spoke volumes of his love for Thor, and though it did not change the fact that Loki’s actions had led to their father’s death, it soothed the ache that had been building in Thor’s chest since he had heard Laufey call Loki ‘my son.’

“Surely—Surely that would have drained him after a few months, if not a few years.” Frigga glanced between Loki and Ashilde.

Ashilde shook her head. “Despite the consequences, magic can be life-sustaining, and if they tied even a small amount of it to Loki’s heart, it would be enough to keep alive for a century.”

“And he does not wake because?” Thor understood everything Ashilde had explained, but he could not see why his brother did not ‘adjust’ while awake.

“His magic is trying to strengthen the new pathways he has created inside himself. He was overflowing with magic when you pulled him from the castle, and it has remained inside him since, feeding his body. It is why he does not wake to eat and take care of other personal matters. His magic is doing both: nurturing him and burning away what is not needed. Look at the color of his eyes.” As she spoke, she lifted Loki’s eyelids once more. “The darker the red, the more magic there is inside him, poisoning his blood. I would say that in just a few more days, his eyes will return to their natural color completely. He is in little danger, Sire, though I would suggest always having someone else with him. The contact keeps him from becoming lost to the magic.”

Ashilde looked ready to say more, but a knock at the door interrupted her. Thor was already crossing the room when the door opened all the way to admit Gerdie. She curtsied just inside the door, then moved out of the way to admit her sons and her new charge.

“We brought you something to eat, Sire, Lady Queen. It has been several house since your last meal, and I thought it best to have it brought to the room.”

“Thank you. Gerdie, this is Ashilde. See that she is given a room and food as well. She has been very helpful this afternoon.”

“Yes, Sire.” Gerdie held out her arm, and when Ashilde was close enough, offered her hand. “Those are my boys, Delling and Riodhr,” she said as she showed Ashilde out of the room. “And this young man...” Their voices faded as the door swung shut, and Thor dropped back down onto the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted.

“It has been a long day, my son. Sleep, and know that soon enough, your brother will be restored to you.”

Thor pressed a kiss to her check when Frigga bent to hug him. “I would hope that you would do the same, mother.”

“I will see you this evening,” she said. Then she was gone as well, ushering out the two young boys and leaving Thor alone with his brother once more.

Thor ate as much as his stomach could tolerate, then laid down to rest, drifting into an unsettled sleep. When he woke again, it was dark outside, and he spared a moment to wonder that he had not woken when the heart was cleared and a fire set, but did not dwell on it. After checking on his brother, Thor sent Delling in search of Fandral and Jane again, leaving only when they had taken his place at Loki’s bedside.

Another two days passed that way, with Thor dividing his time between his duties as king and guarding his brother’s ever-sleeping figure. When he grew bored of the silence, he hunted down the shattered violin and had Riodhr visit the town merchants in search of the materials necessary for fixing the instrument. Thor passed the remainder of the week that way, carving great chunks of wood down in the shapes required, smoothing the grain with soft stone.

On the sixth night since their return, Thor laid down beside Loki with a violin shell and strings bought from a gruff-toned dwarf who had scoffed at Thor’s previous purchase. He had sat down on the bed thinking to work from there, but as the minutes passed and the candles burned lower, Thor found his eyes growing heavier and heavier. Twice he jerked awake, the violin still cradled in his hands, and he yawned.

“If I am not careful, I will break you before my brother has a chance to make fun of my attempts.”

“It is impressive an oaf such as yourself is able to create something as delicate as a violin.”

It took Thor far too long to realize the words were not imagined, and when he did, all his hard work nearly went tumbling to the floor. Shoving the violin aside, Thor twisted until he could see Loki’s eyes, wary but blue once more, and he reached out with shaking fingers to touch the small furrow in Loki’s brow.

“You sleep for more than a week, brother, let me think you will never wake again, and then your first words are insults against my person.”

“I had not thought I would wake at all,” Loki admitted. 

His voice was rough with disuse, strained and edged with something dark and unhappy. Thor did not blame him, and very deliberately let his relief shine through.

“I have held out hope that you would return to me, though I had thought you would not take so long. It is good to see awake, brother,” Thor said.

For a long moment, Loki said nothing, his gaze roving over Thor’s face. The apprehension that had been there bled away after a few minutes, though, and Thor knew then that his brother could see just how worried Thor had been.

“And it is good to see you, brother,” he said at last. Then he did the impossible and _laughed_.


	19. Epilogue

_Two years later…_

Loki shifted in his seat, aware that every eye in the room was on him. For the first time in years, though, he found himself uncaring of the scrutiny and turned his attention to the man kneeling standing at the foot of the dais. Beside him, Thor listened to the man’s plea for aid in keeping the bandits away from his village, and when the man fell silent again, Thor leaned back in his seat.

“This is not the first time your village has sent someone to us with such a request. In the past, our kingdom was ill equipped to lend such assistance so close to harvest. It is to our advantage that we are now in a position in which we have men and women to spare.”

Though Loki’s gaze had not left the villager, he could feel the weight of his brother’s stare, and the corner of his mouth turned up against his will. 

“As your king has suggested, the city of what was once Jotunheim’s capitol is close to your village. I will send a messenger this afternoon, and you may expect the arrival of at least a dozen men and women within a week’s time. If your people have the space, they will stay in the village. If not, and there is no shame in admitting so, they will set up camp as close as possible, and they will remain with you until the first bloom.”

Thor continued seamlessly, two years of practice making their verbal dance an easy one. “There is a village not far from your own, just beyond what was once the Jotunheim border. I believe you have traded with them in the past and are familiar enough with the Jötunns that you will have no quarrel with those who are sent to your village.”

“No, Your Majesty, we do not. Our village and theirs have long since been companionable. Were they not smaller than our own sixty-odd, they would have offered us help as well.” The peasant offered up a genuine smile, and Loki found it impossible not to return it in kind. 

“The winters have been hard for your people, have they not?” Loki asked.

“They have, Your Majesty. In the past, we have lost as many as ten to the cold alone. Our young men leave with the coming of summer, and our number grows smaller each year.”

“Hmm. The Jötunn village has grown since the passing of its previous king, though they are still quite small. That their magic users are no longer conscripted into service of Laufey’s mages has much to do with that. Still, it will be some time before their village is as prosperous as it could be. Have you taken into consideration joining the two? There are many who still see the Jötunns as their enemy, but perhaps if they saw the union of two such villages, they would see not foes, but friends.”

The peasant—and Loki would do well, now, to remember his name—laughed. “It is a thought that has crossed our minds many times over the years. Until now, the risk has outweighed the gain. Thank you, Your Majesties. The villagers will be happy to hear it.”

“And you may share that news with them in a few days time. For now, one of our townspeople has offered to let you stay in a spare bed. You travelled far and on foot. Rest for the day and night, and in the morning, someone will see you back to your village.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” 

The man’s voice sounded thick with tears, and not for the first time, Loki was taken aback by the sincere gratitude shown in the face of Thor’s generosity. While Odin had not been a particularly _strict_ ruler, he had not been as easy to approach as Thor. The difference was almost astounding, and Loki was left to wonder just how his brother had become the king he was now. Only when their audience dispersed and they were once more alone did he venture to ask his question aloud.

“I am insulted you have to ask,” Thor replied. His attempt at a scowl was ruined when he laughed a moment later. “In truth, it is because of you. Since I was first required to sit in on the council meetings, you have been ever at my side, murmuring your suggestions on ways in which compromise could be sought. Father was deaf to your ideas, but I am not.”

They stood, Thor pausing to stretch, and Loki winced in sympathy at the sound of his brother’s joints popping. He reached out with one hand to press his palm flat against Thor’s back, and relaxed into the hum of magic flowing up through the ground and into him. It was still strange, even a year and a half later, to do so, but it was less draining on his person now that his body was no longer trying to produce the very magic that would in turn poison it. Before, when he had drawn magic from outside himself, it had been small thread-like tendrils, stretched thin because there were no true leylines in Asgard. Now, however, after months of excruciating work, there were several leylines running throughout the land, siphoned off of the large Jotunheim pool to create a balance of power. 

“Thank you,” Thor said, startling Loki from his thoughts.

Riodhr was waiting in the hall when they stepped out of the throne room, and just behind him was Delling. The boys straightened as Thor and Loki drew close.

“Sire, the Queen Mother has asked that we tell you she has retired for the afternoon and you need not attend her.”

“Thank you, Riodhr. My brother and I will be in our rooms for the time being, should anyone need us.”

“Yes, Sire.” Riodhr bowed and stepped away, but Delling remained close at hand until Loki turned to him.

Delling looked almost stern as he said, “Your Mother told me to remind you to eat.” 

“As always, she knows us too well. Thank you, Delling. Unlike my brother, I have no desire to be interrupted for the next two hours. If anyone should ask for me, say that I am in my study.”

“Yes, Sire.”

The two boys followed a respectful distance as Thor and Loki headed for their shared rooms, stopping at the alcove where they would wait until called for. Though it was no secret that Loki and Thor shared quarters, and also a bed, it was something of which they did not speak all too freely. Thor had made it plain during Loki’s coronation that his intent was to rule alongside his brother and no other. When the question of producing an heir was brought up at the council meeting, Thor had assured them they need not worry. Loki had wondered, though, and when they were in the privacy of their room, he voiced his concerns.

“Have you given thought to what you will do about an heir? The council has yet to stop bringing the subject up at meetings, and I know the people of Asgard are… _curious_ as well.”

“They can be as curious as they would like, brother,” Thor replied. “I have no desire to marry, not when it means no longer sleeping at your side each night.”

Loki frowned. “No one has suggested you marry, in case you have not noticed. The question is to whether there will be a blood heir.” He paused, then added, “Although a brief marriage would be for the best, if only to assure the people he or she is a legitimate heir to the throne.”

“And if I were to father a child, Loki, what then? He or she would be of Asgardian descent. Would you then produce a child as well in hopes of a true marriage between our bloodlines?”

It was clear Thor meant the words to be mocking, but they gave Loki pause as he sat on the bed. “That is not a bad idea, actually. And if you were to bed a Jötunn and I an Asgardian, then the children born would be of mixed blood. A unification of the purest form. That I did not think of this first is irritating to say the least.”

“So now may we set aside such serious talk? I can think of many other things I would rather be doing right now.”

“Such as what?” Loki asked, though he knew the answer already. 

Thor smiled wide and full of intent. “Such as things that would have a maiden blushing just to hear them whispered in her ear,” he promised. He sprawled across the bed, then reached to pull Loki down on top him. “I would have you naked and beneath me right now if I did not know you would fight me just to be contrary.”

“I would fight you because I know that you enjoy using your brutish strength to hold me down,” Loki said with a smirk. “I would resist you at first because sometimes, brother, it does you well to have to work for what you want, rather than have me give it to you.” He twisted to the side, pulling free of Thor’s grip. He was nearly to his feet when a hand in the back of his shirt yanked him down once more.

He expected more arguing and had a protest ready, only to have the words die on his tongue. The expression Thor wore was one of such tenderness, that Loki felt himself relenting before he could make the conscious choice to do so.

“You are an idiot,” Loki murmured against the press of Thor’s lips. There was no hiding the fondness in his tone, but Loki had long since given up hiding his feelings from his brother.

Thor hushed him with another kiss, then shifted until they were lying side-by-side. The change in mood caught Loki off-guard, and he tipped his head back to meet Thor’s gaze. 

“What is troubling you, brother?” 

“Troubling me? Not a thing. Is it so strange for me to simply want to lie with you?”

Loki sighed and rolled to sit astride Thor’s hips. Bracing his hands against the bed on either side of Thor’s head, Loki leaned down until their mouths were a breath away. Only then did he speak, his voice a bare whisper. 

“Perhaps I wish more than to simply lie at your side. We have been in meetings all day, Thor, with only the briefest time alone. Now we are in our rooms and you wish to rest?”

“We have a council meeting this evening to discuss the requested early retirement of Councilman Suffield. I do not wish to begin something we will not have time to finish. I know how much it annoys you when I do so, Loki, and I should not like to spend another three days with skin the color of grass.”

“A pity. It suited you rather well.” With a not-so-subtle shift of his hips, Loki ground down against Thor’s hard length and grinned. “It would seem you not so disinterested after all. Perhaps it will take only a little encouragement to get the rest of you agreeable.” 

Loki closed his eyes, picturing what it was he wanted. Beneath him, Thor stirred and tensed.

“What are you doing, bro—” Thor broke off with a gasp.

The spell was one of Loki’s own devising, a dozen invisible hands stripping away their clothing. What could not be easily removed unraveled at the seams, stitching itself back together as they settled on the chair off to the side. When they were naked, he opened his eyes again, and knew they gleamed red. He let out a startled laugh as Thor’s cock jerked, not for the first time surprised by his brother’s rather enthusiastic response to the manifestation of Loki’s Jötunn heritage.

“I believe there is a vial of almond oil beneath your pillow. Perhaps you would like to get it out. My magic is capable of many things, but I have always preferred a more human touch when it comes to preparing myself.”

Thor shuddered, his eyes closing for a brief moment, then he was scrambling to do just that. He spilled more oil on the sheets than his fingers, and laughed breathlessly as he pressed the first finger into Loki. By the third, Thor’s movements were graceless and desperate while Loki continued to smile down at him. Every twist set Loki’s blood on fire, and he let every moan and whimper fall unheeded from his lips. After a few minutes, though, Loki’s patience began to wear thin and he found himself snapping at Thor.

“If you do not hurry, Thor, so help me, I will turn your skin as blue as sky during Midsummer and leave you to sleep alone for the next fortnight!”

“Your threats are empty, Loki, for I know well how much you loathe to sleep alone. But since we share the same desire...” Thor groaned and reached for the almond oil once more. He spread the last of it over his cock, then took hold of Loki’s hips with slippery hands, offering only support as Loki slowly sank down. When Thor was as deep as he could go, they breathed out as one.

It never took Loki long to climax when they were joined thus, a fact that had bothered him more than a little in the beginning. Now he reveled in it, taking his pleasure without regret or shame. He shifted, lifting his hands to brace himself against Thor’s chest and began a slow roll of his hips that quickly built into a drop and roll that had Thor stretching him wide. It took a few adjustments to find the place inside him that sent sharp sparks of heat dancing up his spine, but the moment he did, he sighed and gave himself over to the unsteady rhythm.

As he felt his release building, Loki dug his toes into the bed, his fingers pressing bruises into Thor’s chest. It was hard to keep his eyes open, but he did, watching the lines of strain break out over Thor’s face as his brother fought to hold back. He let out a soundless laugh only to choke as one of Thor’s hand slid back, his fingers prodding at the place where they were joined.

With a gasp, Loki came, spilling across Thor’s stomach. His arms went limp, and he would have collapsed had Thor not held him up. Loki remained loose-limbed as Thor began to thrust up, straining toward his own release. His brow was furrowed, and his bottom lip bruised as he bit it. His eyes had that wild look about them, as though what he was searching for was just beyond his reach. Dropping his head down to put his lips level with Thor’s ear, Loki said,

“There is a spell in one of my books, to change the very nature of a man or woman’s body to that of the opposite sex. It is not permanent. Could you imagine, Thor, if I were to utilize such a spell? To give myself the body of a woman? What—what if we were to bear an heir that way, brother?”

Thor let a shocked, choked sound and came. His body jerked as emptied himself, the heat of his release warming Loki from the inside. It took a while for Thor’s breathing to even out, and as he slipped free of Loki’s body, Thor pulled him closer. Minutes ticked by, and Loki waited, patient and aware. Just when he thought perhaps Thor had fallen asleep, his brother said,

“I would not ask that of you, brother.”

“I know. I would not have offered it, either, had I not intended to follow through. There is no rush to decide tonight. Think on it. It is just another possibility among many, and one that I only recently came to myself.” He pulled away after another moment, leaving the warmth of the bed long enough to fetch a cloth. When they were both clean, Loki arranged them under the blankets.

“Sleep, brother. We have time enough until the meeting,” Loki said. When he received no response, he realized Thor had already done so. With a smile, Loki let himself drift off as well, the promise of a true future easing his way into sleep.

_Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading. Any remaining mistakes in the story are purely my own and I do apologize for them.
> 
> Make sure you go check out the art by [ctbn60](http://ctbn60.livejournal.com/342848.html)!!


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